


Inevitable

by Vulcanmi



Series: What Ifs [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cannibalism, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Infidelity, Hannibal is Hannibal, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Mild Gore, Minor Character Death, Poor Molly, Post-Episode: s03e07 Digestivo, Sexual Content, Slow Build, Will is a Mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-08 08:28:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 51,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8837599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vulcanmi/pseuds/Vulcanmi
Summary: Will decides not to consult on the Tooth Fairy case. All it does is prolong an eventuality.





	1. Advice

**Author's Note:**

> What would have happened if Will had actually refused Jack when he asked him to help on the Tooth Fairy case?
> 
> There are lots of dialogue bits taken from season 3 and reworked based on the context of the story, you'll probably recognize them when you see them. Enjoy!

_“I want you to know exactly where I am. And where you can always find me.”_

Will woke immediately, but without startling. One moment he was wrapped in dreams, memories synonymous with nightmares, and the next he was opening his eyes and staring up at the ceiling of his home. The one he shared with Molly, the one he’d worked so very hard for. The one he’d earned. Gradually, his pulse slowed and returned to normal. 

He could feel sweat wetting his chest, making his shirt cling, and knew when he sat up he’d be able to feel it cooling on his back as well. With a sigh he sat up, tugging off the material and moving to get a clean one.

Molly slept like the dead, but he still looked over to be sure he wouldn’t wake her, and moved as silently through the room as he could, wincing when the floorboards creaked beneath the pressure. 

He focused hard on the smallest actions, watching the way the doorknob turned under his hand, eying the faucet as water came tumbling from it, filing the sink, watching his reflection after his face no longer felt overheated. No matter how hard he tried though, he couldn’t distract his thoughts away from his dream. Memory. 

He did not regret it, he reminded himself. Who would regret putting a known serial killing cannibal behind bars? No, it wasn’t regret.

Since ignoring it didn’t seem to be working, he let the images he’d seen in the dream fill his mind, shuddering as he saw Hannibal’s face in his mind’s eye. Wounded, vulnerable, in a way he’d never seen, a way he doubted anyone had. No manipulation, no game, no motive. Pure emotion.

_“Goodbye, Hannibal.”_

Some part of him had thought, worried, that Hannibal would see through him. All Hannibal had done was sit silent, for a moment, and then stand, and walk out the door. He hadn’t said a word. Hadn’t tried to cajole Will into admitting anything, had not tried to draw him back into the game. Then, as Will had calculated (hoped), he’d turned himself in. It was probably the first time he’d ever won against Hannibal. It hadn’t felt like winning. 

Will wiped his face dry with a fluffy hand towel, and then did the same with his chest and back, letting out a sigh. He still felt dirty, but knew he wouldn’t be showering until the morning. 

Even though he’d had every intention of getting back in the bed, after he put on another shirt, he found himself sliding on a thick, comfortable sweater, and wandering down towards the fireplace. It wasn't lit, and he didn't light it, instead just settling back on the love seat and staring at the logs and ash. 

It was because of that letter. Ever since it arrived it was like everything around him was in high color, too bright, too much.

Three years to cut Hannibal Lecter out of his life. Three years of success, in that venture. He had a wife now, and a child that he could call his own, even if he wasn’t, biologically speaking. He knew exactly where Hannibal was, and that suited him fine, because it made it that much easier to avoid him. 

Then Jack came. He should have seen it coming, from the moment Jack stepped out of the car. Handed him a picture of a family long dead. He was too busy trying not to let himself get caught up in the murder that he hadn’t even considered what Hannibal would do. Because of course he’d heard, and of course he knew, and it shouldn’t have been as amusing as it was, that Hannibal could still read Jack like a picture book after three years in the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. 

Will stared at the ashes the letter had become, the words reaching his ears in Hannibal’s voice. 

“ _I would encourage you as a friend not to step through the door he holds open. It’s dark on the other side, and madness is waiting._ ” 

Despite what the former psychiatrist said, the included newspaper article betrayed the true intentions. It was manipulation, but some part of him wanted to believe that Hannibal was offering a fair warning, along with the blatant inclusion of what Hannibal himself wanted Will to do. He had no doubt Hannibal would like nothing more than for him to get back in the minds of dangerous killers. To go a little mad. Bend a little more towards whatever it was Hannibal wanted him to become. 

Will knew that was exactly what would happen, too. He’d try to see this killer, understand him. He’d try, but it wouldn’t be enough, or he’d tell himself that, and he’d go to Hannibal. From there, Hannibal had the upper hand. He couldn’t let that happen. Not again. So, for the first time in a while, he decided to take Hannibal’s advice.

 

 

“Are you sure?”

Will looked into Molly’s eyes, the fact that the urge to avert his gaze was largely absent making him feel more confident in his decision. “Yes. I’m sure.”

“Will,” Molly started with that tone of voice usually reserved for when he was being stubborn, and she knew she was right. 

Not this time, though. He forced a smile, willing her to drop the subject. It was impossible not to be a little irritated that she was fighting him on this. “Molly,” he interrupted. “I left that life behind. That’s not who I am anymore. I don’t even think I’d be any good to Jack.” It wasn’t entirely untrue. It’d been so long since he’d let the pendulum swing, he didn’t even know if he could anymore. He wasn’t particularly eager to find out, either. 

Molly still looked a little hesitant, and he leaned in to press his face against her neck, sighing. “I’m going to refer him to someone who might be more willing to help.”

“What if he still wants you?”

“Then he’s going to have to settle.”

Molly considered this, tilting her head and raising a hand to rest it on his face. Her palm was warm, and it made him feel grounded, sure. He didn’t want to leave this behind to go back to that world of blood and designs. 

“Who is it?” 

He didn’t know he was going to say the words until they left his mouth. “An old friend.”

 

 

_Dr. Lecter,_

_I learned my lesson about stepping into the darkness and have the scars to prove it. This isn’t my job anymore and profiling serial killers doesn’t fit anywhere in my new life. It’s been too long. You’d be better suited for the task, you could probably have the case solved before I could even make myself look at the crime scene photos. It must be hard finding things to engage yourself with in prison. Maybe if you give Jack something to go on you’ll get time off for good behavior._

He’d originally started the letter with ‘Dear Hannibal,’ but it hadn’t felt right and it made his stomach churn uneasily, so he’d erased it and started over. ‘Dr. Lecter’ was clinical, lacked any familiarity, which was perfect for Will’s purposes. Handwriting the letter was out for the same reason, but he’d sat at his laptop for ages just watching his fingers shake over the keys before he’d finally managed to to type something. He didn’t bother signing it.

Staring at the single sheet of printed paper, something struck him as wrong. He read his words again, face blank, but the sensation wouldn’t leave, and then he realized what didn’t feel right was the fact that it read like a letter to a near stranger, and to an untrained eye betrayed none of his history with the intended recipient. The last sentence might even be read as cruel, considering Hannibal would remain imprisoned for as long as he lived. As soon as this thought crossed his head, Will found an envelope, taped the letter shut and mailed it out before he could change his mind.

The next day he took Wally fishing. 

Jack called a few more times over the week, but he didn’t come visit the house again, for which Will was grateful. He avoided the news whenever possible. If Molly noticed his unrest she didn’t say anything, and slowly, things seemed to settle down. Life blurred back to normal, harsh colors fading down and letting him fall back into the easy existence he’d chosen.

 

 

“I’m cooking tonight,” Molly declared, and Will raised an eyebrow. 

“When you say cooking, do you mean you’re boiling noodles?”

She gave him a playful, defensive look as she hefted a pot filled with water onto the stove. Some of the liquid sloshed out over the edges and he watched it drip to the floor. “It counts. I’m putting _real_ tomatoes in the sauce tonight, too.”

“Fancy.”

They exchanged a laugh, a fond look, and Will left her to her own devices in the kitchen as he moved to shower before dinner. He’d been outside working in the garage for most of the day, and his fingers still felt stiff with the cold. Some part of him cringed at the thought of spaghetti again, but he stamped it down. Wally loved spaghetti. And he wasn’t that picky. 

Will was half undressed when he heard his phone vibrating from the dresser. 

He walked over, not at all surprised to see Jack’s number lighting up the screen. He considered not answering, but knew the man would just call back later. “What is it, Jack.” No need for pleasantries. He was long past caring about being rude to Jack Crawford. 

“Will. There’s only a week left until the next full moon.”

Will eyed his dresser, trying to remember if his favorite pajama bottoms were dirty. “I hope you find your guy soon,” he offered. 

“We need your help, Will.”

Will allowed himself a moment to be angry. He was not some mystical deity who could look at a crime scene and instantly know the who, why, and how. He didn’t owe it to Jack either, to come running when things got hard. He deserved this peace. He’d earned it. He ignored the guilt that tried to creep up his chest, letting his anger out with a breath that left him with nothing but resentment. “I’m sorry, Jack, I am. But I can’t do it anymore.” He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t risk it. 

“Not for the profile.”

Will went still, a soft frown pulling at his lips. His fingers curled tighter around the phone, an uneasy feeling settling in his stomach. “For what, then?”

“We got desperate. There was only one other person I could think of who could get into this guy’s head like you can.” 

Ah. “Hannibal,” he muttered, mostly just to feel the name on his tongue. He never said it aloud, anymore. The subject never came up with Molly, he made sure of that. Will considered, the uneasiness growing. “He wrote you.”

Jack was silent for a second, and Will imagined him frustrated, imagined him wondering if he and Hannibal had a connection he was unaware of. “Yes,” came the answer, and Will realized that Jack really must be desperate. 

“Then what’s the problem?” Hannibal had many traits that made him the opposite of a good person, but a lack of insight wasn't one of them. He had no doubt Hannibal could figure out who was behind this, if given access to the information. Being in prison had to be terrible, for a man like Hannibal who was always doing something, creating, flexing his mind and sucking in all the knowledge he could. Will was counting on him jumping at the chance to once again be involved in the outside world, be involved in something he had an undeniable interest in. It was impossible not to feel just a little sad, at that thought, at the image of Hannibal in jail where he couldn’t cook, or play one of his many instruments, but Will flinched when he noticed the guilt that pushed a furrow between his eyebrows. He refused to feel guilty over Hannibal.

Will realized Jack was still speaking, and he exhaled hard, shaking his head. “What?”

“I said, he has a condition.”

Will’s raised eyebrow was apparent in his tone. “Is he really in any place to be bargaining with the FBI?” 

“Apparently.” 

Whatever the condition was, Jack had already agreed to it, that much was apparent. It had to be something that Jack felt would be beneficial, or that he felt (wrongly, probably) could be manipulated to his benefit. The unease threatened to overwhelm, and Will had to sit on the bed, his hand squeezing his knee. 

“What is it, Jack?” 

“He wants you to respond to his letter.”

It was at once surprising, and exactly what he’d expected. “I… I already wrote him back.” Will pursed his lips, and then remembered, before Jack answered. 

“He wrote you again.”

“Oh, I. I threw it away.”

Will could _feel_ Jack’s approval, and suddenly felt angry at himself for his actions. “Well, write him something. I don’t care what. We’re no closer to catching this guy than we have been, and even though I’d rather have you, I’ll take what I can get.”

‘Of course you will’, Will thought, nostril’s flaring. He didn’t like how flippantly Jack was taking this. Like writing Hannibal a letter was something he could do easily. Like it didn’t matter. He couldn’t shatter that illusion though, because it was exactly the sort of thing he’d spent the last three years trying to make people believe. 

“If this is all it takes to win his cooperation, I count us lucky.”

Will considered refusing. He knew Jack wouldn’t understand. He still didn’t understand why he’d refused taking the case. Somehow, this felt infinitely more dangerous. He could write another letter just as impersonal as the first, but he knew Hannibal would pick at every tiny phrase until it felt like he was rummaging around through his brain from all the way in Baltimore, behind locked doors. He also knew that it wouldn’t stop at one letter.  

Will took in a breath, the ‘no’ poised on his tongue. “Okay Jack.” Will wasn’t really present for the rest of the conversation, and then he found himself staring down at the phone’s black screen, knowing that Jack had hung up. He got up, took the phone off vibrate and set it back on the counter. He stood in the middle of the room for too long before remembering he was half-naked and he’d meant to take a shower.

He knew everyone would think it insignificant. He could lie to himself and say he was strong-armed into it. He could say that it wasn’t as bad as being there himself, he could say that he _had_ to do this to save lives. The truth was much simpler, and one he would never, could never admit to. He missed Hannibal. 

 


	2. Pleasantries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal's next letter isn't what Will expected. Despite himself he finds himself wanting more than what the doctor gives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so the ideas for this came pouring out when I sat down to write again today. Chapter three is almost done! I'd love to hear thoughts or suggestions :D Still looking for a beta~
> 
> And, I'm writing another story as well that happens to be in present tense, so I apologize if you spy any random tense switches, that's just me struggling to switch back and forth.

_I threw away your other letter. Why waste your leverage on the FBI with this? I don’t know what you’re expecting. I’m not the person I used to be._

Will stared at the last line, contemplated deleting it. He started to read in between the lines of his own words.

_I don't have anything to say to you, but Jack wants this taken care of as soon as possible. I think you'd do it even without this little 'stipulation', if they pushed hard enough. You can't resist the chance to flaunt your talents. I'm sure you're rarely able to, these days._

Will hesitated, then added, _I saw your piece in the American Journal of Psychiatry. I wish I could have seen Frederick's face._ Deciding that was enough, he printed the page and then folded it into thirds, reaching for the envelope he'd already prepared. 

His eyes dragged across the address written in his untidy scrawl, wondering how long it would take Hannibal to respond, or if he would. It might seem counter-productive to demand a letter and then not give one in return, but Hannibal always had an end goal of some sort. Will couldn't yet see his design. Whatever the case, he smiled at Molly when he came in from setting the lone letter in their postbox, a sinking, guilty feeling making his feet feel weighed down as he pulled off his boots. 

"You look tired," she observed, tugging her hair back into a ponytail. 

"I feel tired," he admitted. Gordy and Clive wandered over, sniffing him before apparently determining he hadn't been up to anything interesting and losing interest. He patted the dog's heads idly, staring down at Clive's brown and white fur as he wondered whether he should tell Molly.

It felt like the answer was obvious. She was his wife, he didn't want to keep secrets from her (any more than necessary). On the other hand, telling her seemed like it would turn it into something bigger than it should be. Molly knew enough about Hannibal. She wasn't Alana, she wasn't going to psychoanalyze his actions, but it didn't need to involve her. The farther removed Molly was from Hannibal, the more comfortable he felt. 

"Wanna come with me and the dogs?" She asked, and he realized she was holding several leashes in preparation to take out their pack. He ran a hand through his hair, wondering where his head was. 

"Yeah, sounds good. Let's go."

They helped each other leash the little beasts, each one growing rowdier as they realized what was happening. 

"Wally, we're walking the dogs," Molly called up the stairs. "Be back in a bit." A distant 'okay' was the only response, and Molly grinned. "Come on, tired man. Let's wake you up."

Will managed a smile. He grabbed his coat on the way out the door- going to the mailbox he hadn't bothered- ignoring the little red flag he'd raised (how appropriate) and trying not to think about the entirely mundane letter he'd written to Hannibal Lecter. Maybe if he was lucky he'd bore the man to death and he'd finally tire of him. Will placed a hand over his stomach.

"You okay? You actually look... really not good," Molly asked, the rhythm of her walking a little odd as she kept the dogs from bolting off with a tight hold on the leashes. "Maybe you should stay in."

Will forced a laugh. "No, no. I'm fine. Just... fresh air will be good."

Molly tilted her head, but didn't disagree. There was a small smile on her lips, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "You've been different since Jack came," she noted, and Will tried not to flinch. 

A self-depreciating smile curled around a sigh. "That obvious, huh?"

"That obvious," she confirmed in a mock solemn voice. She faced forwards again, tilting her head towards the clouds. "He really gets to you, doesn't he?"

'You have no idea', he wanted to say, but didn't think it fair, considering how much of his old life he'd kept from her. He nodded slowly, trying to think of how to phrase it. "I just... Jack was always good at getting underneath my skin. Telling me I was the only thing standing between the bad guys and everyone else. That I couldn't stop, because people would die. I'm... done being Jack Crawford's bloodhound."

For a moment Molly's only response was a hum. Will wondered if it was something she could really understand. He recalled the people who'd advised him to quit while he was ahead, those who'd seen his breakdown coming.  

" _I’m your friend, Will. I don’t care about the lives you save, I care about your life."_

He shook his head. Hannibal hardly counted. 

"We do have enough dogs," Molly said a second later, and gave him a small smile. He appreciated the attempt at humor, even if he wasn't much in the mood to laugh. There was another short pause, then she spoke again. "I'm glad then, that you didn't go. If it's this bad from just a visit I can't imagine if you'd actually left."

The words were light, teasing, but Will felt a tug in his chest. This was what he stood to loose, letting himself get back in Hannibal's line of influence. He couldn't let Hannibal take this from him, too.

 

 

_Dear Will,_

_It's a shame you did not get a chance to read my previous letter. Hopefully this one finds itself opened before you throw it away. You seem well, and I thank you for the compliment._

Will didn't know what compliment he spoke of, and felt exasperated that this was how Hannibal had taken the letter he'd tried so hard to be impersonal with.

_I decided to take your advice, as you so kindly took mine. You are right, the hospital is dreadfully dull, and I find my only callers to be banal psychiatrists and grasping second-raters. Pencil lickers._

He had to stop reading for a moment, nearly able to taste the disdain in the other's voice. For a second, he imagined he could see Hannibal in his cell, watching him, somehow managing to be composed and dignified even in a prison jumpsuit, completely unruffled, as if Will were the one locked up. 

The moment passed, and Will read on.

_Contacting Jack has made for some much needed variety. They say it is the spice of life, after all._

_I am quite interested in this newcomers work. I refuse to call him the 'Tooth Fairy'. It is a more degrading moniker than 'Hannibal the Cannibal'._

And hadn't that been a dizzyingly wonderful and terrible few seconds, the first time he'd realized _it rhymes,_ when he was only just beginning to see what Hannibal really was.

_This is a very shy boy Will. I would love to meet him._

Will feared that Hannibal would go on to talk about the killings more, but when he shuffled to the next page of the letter, he found nothing but a surprisingly well done sketch of Hannibal's old office. He tapped his thumb against the chair he'd used to sit in, face blank as his mind conjured up memories of the dangerous game he'd played- and lost.

It was irritating to realize that, as relieved as he was Hannibal wasn't talking about the case, he was disappointed the letter was so short. Almost inconsequential. This cordial Hannibal was one he didn't know how to handle. It wasn't what he'd expected. No probing questions about his life, no trying to goad him back into the field. He'd barely mentioned the Tooth Fairy. Will squinted, and read through the letter again, but he was unable to see it, whatever Hannibal's plan was. Of course, that was probably the point. 

Will noticed it by accident, on the back of the sketch of Hannibal's office (that he wasn't really sure what to do with). 

_P.S. Frederick's face was magnificent._

Will couldn't help the way his lips twitched. He looked at the sketch again, eyes taking in all the fine details, and wondered why Hannibal would send what he had to have spent a significant amount of time on. How did he even draw this where he was? Of course, trust Hannibal to be creating gallery worthy art even while imprisoned. 

Will snorted, shaking his head.

He was moving to his computer before he realized what he was doing. He had a blank document open before his brain caught up, and a scowl took over his face. He'd fulfilled his obligation- he'd written to Hannibal. One letter was all the FBI had called for, there was no reason to write a response. Will looked down at the papers he still had clutched in his hand, rising promptly and moving over to the fireplace to toss them into the flames. He hesitated with the sketch.

"Will?" 

Will jumped just a little, turning to see Molly yawning, one hand rubbing at her eyes. He hadn't realized how late it was. Instantly his face smoothed, and he walked closer, letting the sketch fall into the flames with the envelope and letter.

"You coming to bed anytime soon?"

"Yeah. Sorry."

 

 

"What is it this time, Jack?"

He was at the grocery store. He blamed Jack for the way he lingered in the spice aisle, fingering ingredients he'd never even thought about, and could barely pronounce. He let out an irritated grunt, pushing his cart roughly away and moving towards the canned food, to get that brand of soup Wally liked. 

"We figured out how he's choosing them." 

"You mean Hannibal figured it out," he couldn't quite help clipping out, and it was ridiculous, the way he could feel Jack's disapproval through the phone. 

"You know Will, I'm starting to think you don't want this guy caught."

"That's not- you know that's not it. I just don't want to be involved. At all." He knew another call from Jack wasn't likely to be just a progress update. He told himself he hadn't been eager to answer, when he saw Jack's name. 

"Lecter was being as cooperative as he ever is, speaking in those riddle's he's oh so fond of. I think he's playing with us."

"He's always playing."

"Nevertheless, he gave us what we needed. But we still don't know who the dragon's next targets are going to be. Lecter does."

"He does? Are you sure?"

"He hinted at it. Either way I don't want to risk ignoring him." 

Will realized he'd been standing in the middle of the aisle when a mother with a child curled around her chest like a spider monkey gave him a disparaging look. Sheepishly, he pushed the cart forwards, swinging around into the next aisle. "You want me to write another letter."

"If it ain't broke," Jack said, and Will pretended to think about it. Writing Hannibal was dangerous, and he thought maybe that was one of the reasons his fingers itched to whenever he used his laptop. Life with Molly and her- their son was peaceful, it was easy, and it was safe. He hadn't done anything that made his heart race- anything that didn't involve closed doors and Molly with _that_ look on her face- in a long time. 

That was one of the reasons, and it was marginally more acceptable than the alternative. "You once crossed the ocean to keep Hannibal and I away from each other," Will mused. Jack already knew what his answer would be. "Now you're doing your damndest to do the opposite."

Jack made a noise that might have been a laugh. "You and Hannibal _are_ away from each other. And he doesn't have the same influence over you, anymore." Will could feel the realization in the sudden pause before Jack spoke again. "He doesn't have the same influence over you, right?"

"Jesus, Jack." Will managed to sound offended.

"You have to admit your relationship was a strange one." Jack seemed to have calmed. "Who knows, maybe you'll be the one influencing him this time."

_"Did you think you could change me, the way I've changed you?"_

Will blinked himself out of the memory. "Protect and serve," he muttered. 

"Get it done, Will. We need to catch this son of a bitch."

The line went dead, and Will stared down at his phone for a few long moments. When he looked up, he was standing in front of the chicken livers, and he nearly ran into an elderly woman, he pushed his cart away so viciously.

 

 

 _I don't know what game you're playing, but I'll figure it out eventually. You can't keep forcing me to write letters to you. Either you'll catch the Tooth Fairy or the FBI will decide you're no longer useful to their purposes. Jack tells me you figured out how he's choosing them. Congratulations, you've convinced Jack you're their ace in the hole. I look forward to seeing how that plays out. Or maybe you intend to keep him dependent on you, so that he comes to you the next time a monster like this gets on the loose. Can I expect more letters in the future? I would advise you not to. I have a new life, and nowhere in it is a place for you._ _What was the sketch for? You have to know that all your letters end up in the fireplace. You don't need to make me an art book. I guess I shouldn't be surprised that you're not treated like a regular prisoner. What other luxuries has Alana graciously gifted you?_

"What are you working on?" 

"What?" Will looked up, fiddling with the reading glasses that had fallen down his nose.

"You've got a scary look on your face. What did the laptop do to you?" Molly joked, and Will blinked hard, wondering what he'd looked like.

"Sorry," he offered, letting one side of his mouth curl up.

"I don't think I've seen you on the computer this much in a while." 

Despite Jack telling him to hurry, Will would admit he'd taken his time, a little. As much as he could afford to, with Hannibal on the loose. He could just picture that smug look on his face as he got exactly what he wanted. Will would open up the laptop and stare at what he'd written, write another line, then close it and go do something else until another thought filled his head that he had to put down. 

"I'm working on a project for Jack."

Molly wrinkled her nose. "I thought you were done with him?" She slid next to him in the love seat, and Will hastily opened the web browser to a google page, realizing what he'd done only after she was curled up into his side.

He cleared his throat. "Yeah, well. This is easier than going back in the field. And it stops him from bothering me about it." 

Molly hummed, turning her face towards his neck. She smelled like strawberries and something else he couldn't quite place. Will's fingers itched to go back to the letter, but he felt her lips brush his skin, and his mind switched its focus as he shut the laptop slowly.

"Wally will be at Brandon's house for at least another hour," she said in a light, teasing whisper, and in the next moment she was squealing happily as he lifted her up and headed towards their room.

They both collapsed in a pile of laughter after Will admitted defeat against the stairs, and Molly grabbed his collar to pull him onto the steps with her. He didn't think about Hannibal for a while after that.

 


	3. Repartee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal is not his friend. Will keeps forgetting that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longest chapter so far and probably the most fun to write. Sorry for the cliffhanger. e v e I'm currently working on chapter 5, so you can expect another update tomorrow.

Will was expecting the letter when it came. He wondered if Jack grinned to himself when he read the contents— because he had to be reading them— if he would forever be amused by having the Chesapeake Ripper behind bars where he belonged.

He sat down in front of the fireplace, for convenience sake. When he opened it, he immediately shuffled to the second page, and found himself staring at a bench in the Uffizi gallery, La Primavera returning the stare in a pencil reproduction that looked flawless to his untrained eye. 

_"If I saw you every day, forever, Will, I would remember this time."_

Will swallowed, and went back to the first page. 

_Dear Will,_

As soon as his eyes hit the words in the elegant script, it was as if the walls of his cabin fell away. He could feel the slim bench under his thighs, the impressive, austere atmosphere of the gallery. He could see Hannibal next to him. 

"I have no doubt that you'll figure it out," Hannibal said, and Will's chest tightened at the sound of his voice, injected with mirth. He was afraid to look at Hannibal, even though he wasn’t really there. "Although, I thought my motives rather transparent." Hannibal looked over at him, and finally Will turned his head. "I've missed your company." It wasn't written on the paper, but somehow Will could tell his meaning, knew that was written between the lines in fine print Hannibal trusted him to read. "I hope that one day I won't have to force you to write." 

Will snorted. "You can't expect me to send you letters like we're old friends."  

Hannibal's smile returned. "To answer a question in a previous letter, I do not consider this a 'waste of my leverage', as you termed it. Family values have declined over the last half century but we still help our families when we can. You are family, Will."

"You're not helping the FBI because I want you to," Will insisted, but Hannibal didn't seem to have anything else to say on the matter.

"I think I would enjoy continuing this arrangement. Alana won't let me have puzzles. I think she's afraid of what I might do with the pieces."

There was something there, he could feel it, some other meaning, but Will told himself not to read too much into it.

"The sketch was an invitation, as I'm sure you've realized by now. A ticket into my memory palace. I still see you there, sometimes, though no longer victorious. I see you exhausted from the weight of keeping the person suit you've chosen from ripping open at the seams." 

Will's face soured, but he knew any claims against Hannibal's implications would merely sound defensive. 

"What you do with the sketch afterwards is of no consequence to me." Hannibal finally turned away, staring at La Primavera with awe and appreciation. "I will always remember that time. Tell me, Will, when you think of me, what image is it that comes to mind first? Is it me gutting you? Holding a knife to Abigail's throat? A bone saw to your head? Whatever that image may be, I hope it holds a special room in your own memory palace, treasured.”

Will scoffed at the idea of ever 'treasuring' the memory of Hannibal killing Abigail, or attempting to cut into his head and eat his brain. None of those were the first thing that came to mind when he thought of Hannibal, though. He suspected the man knew that.

"I will keep this brief, as I'm sure you have things to do to keep your new life together. I am still adjusting to my new life as well. Alana has given me my books, and drawings, though I suspect only to threaten me with the possibility of taking them away. Your letter smelled of the same atrocious aftershave you wore in court. I could also smell dogs, and pine, as well as artificial strawberries and bananas. Distinctly feminine. Is there a woman in your life, Will? A child to match? Not your own offspring though, surely. You know better than to reproduce."

Will gritted his teeth, telling himself it didn't matter if Hannibal knew about his family. His _real_ family. In fact, it would be better that he did. Proof that he had moved on. That he didn't want, or need Hannibal any more. Not that he needed proof. "You sound jealous." It was almost amusing. The idea of Hannibal feeling anything as base as jealousy could be nothing but. Hannibal's smile waned, just slightly.

"Give them my regards." 

Will blinked at the ending, almost abrupt, left with nothing to stare at but the signature. 

_Sincerely, Hannibal Lecter_

This was more like Hannibal. The biting words concealed underneath polite language, the implications that Will was hiding some dark secret that only he could see. Hannibal didn’t seem to realize that Will didn’t want his secrets to be seen. 

He rose to grab his laptop from the table. He stopped halfway up, wondering if he should bother writing a response. If he didn’t, Hannibal was likely to delay the investigation further, and Jack would give him a thorough chewing out, probably drag him back no matter what he said. Easier to cut out the middle man. 

 

 

“If the Tooth Fairy did strike, we have yet to find the bodies,” Jack told him over the phone the following Monday. “We think he’s waiting for something.”

“Waiting for what?” Will looked down at the top of Molly’s head, running his fingers through the locks of hair that spilled over her shoulder.

“We don’t know. But Lecter didn’t seem surprised. We don’t know if this means he knows we’re on his tail and decided to wait an extra week, or if he’ll wait for the next cycle of the full moon.”

It was starting to feel like he was very much a part of this investigation. Will sighed loud enough for Jack to hear. “I don’t know what you want me to tell you.”

“I don’t want you to tell me anything,” Jack said, though it sounded more like he was just being patronizing than speaking actual truth. “But I’m beginning to think our new consultant has worn out his usefulness.”

Molly shifted, tilting her head in displeasure, and Will realized his hand had stopped. He swallowed, continuing to drag his fingers through her hair. 

“Ha- he’s good, but he’s not a mind-reader, Jack. He’s still your best bet.” He looked down at Molly’s head, wondering if she caught the slip, if she knew who he’s talking about. If she did though, she didn’t react one way or another, remaining with even breaths, feet propped up on the arm of the couch.

It was Jack’s turn to sigh. “I know. Believe me, I know.” The conversation turned to lighter things, before Will finally found an excuse to get off the line, and hung up, closing his eyes. 

“Was that about your ‘project’?” Molly mumbled, and Will flinched. 

“Oh— yeah.” Will looked down at his phone, swallowing. “Yeah.”  

 

The next time, it was Hannibal’s kitchen. Will stared at the reproduction on paper in a mild stupor, until he touched the fingers to the page, and he found himself drawn back to Baltimore. He stood in the shadows and watched Hannibal advance, covered in blood, watched him stroke his past self’s cheek, and then take a knife to his stomach. 

He shut his eyes, and the image disappeared, replaced with one of Hannibal moving around the wood floors with practiced grace, an apron about his waist, and ingredients spread out across the counter.

“You don’t think I can play nice with the FBI,” Hannibal said, amusement in his tone. 

Will moved forward to watch Hannibal work, and countered, “I know you can’t.”

“You find it difficult to believe that my boredom would drag me to catching criminals, who I would be more likely to encourage, if given the choice.” 

Will nodded at the statement, unable to say it better.

“Well, I’d hate to be labeled predictable.”

A laugh was startled from him, and Will shook his head. “I guess you want me to thank you for getting Jack off my back? I can see the headlines now. Hannibal Lecter relives a past long gone and solves the case of the notorious Tooth Fairy in place of the deranged Will Graham. As this reporter has told you before, ‘it takes one to catch one’.” 

Hannibal looked up from slicing the cut of meat, liver, a smile on his lips, hair falling into his eyes. “I do believe Ms. Lounds would be disappointed if she could see you now. Do you ever get restless, Will? Crave more than what the cage you've backed yourself into will provide?”

Will chose to stay in safe territory. “I don’t care what Freddie thinks. If I ever see that ‘reporter’ again it will be too soon.”

Hannibal hummed, slipping the meat into a marinade he had waiting, using deft hands to coat each piece carefully and entirely. “I will admit I felt no relief upon discovering she was still alive.”

“I’m not sure anyone did.”

“Be careful, Will, I think I’ve found a tear in your person suit.” Hannibal’s voice was light, teasing, and though Will didn’t rise to the bait, he couldn’t make himself be irritated. 

“Have you been keeping up with the investigation? Our shy boy is in the midst of a beautiful becoming. He reminds me a bit of you.”

“The serial killer who assassinates families and then has sex with the mother’s corpses reminds you of me?”

Hannibal’s lips twitched higher. “You purposely pretend not to understand my meaning. Of course you have your differences all well. This boy understands what he is and endeavors to fully embrace it. I suspect for a long time, it remained dormant within him. His design is not quite as elegant as yours.”

Ridiculously, Will wanted to chastise Hannibal for using that word specifically, like a disgruntled teenager mad at a friend for stealing their joke. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“I did suspect with you, a knife against flesh might be more appropriate, but considering my current circumstances you’ll have to settle for flattery.” Hannibal’s grin pointed at him, sharp as the knife he wielded, and Will found his lips curling in return.

“Will?”

Hannibal’s kitchen disappeared from around him before he could ask what was for dinner. When he blinked again, he was standing in Molly’s kitchen, in his kitchen, bare foot and chilled, fireplace having yet to warm the air that early in the morning.

The dark joke was just fading from his head, and he turned around to look at Molly, clenching the letter tightly in his hands. She gave him an amused smile, one hand resting on her hip and the other nursing a coffee mug.

“You're in a good mood this morning.”

He offered a sheepish smile. “Sorry I…” He folded the letter back in half, trying to think of what to say. Before he could though Molly spoke again, free hand rising.

“Don’t apologize to me, you look better than you have in a while. Since Jack came back, anyway. Finally finish that project?”

The smile faded from Will’s lips when he realized it was still there, and he ran a hand across his mouth. “Um. No, not yet. It’s… almost done though.” He looked back down at the letter, barely skimming the paragraph he had left, picking out the words ‘pets’ and ‘wonder’, before he crumpled the paper, and the sketch, suddenly unbearably angry at himself.

Molly pressed a kiss to his cheek, and he could feel her grin. “What’s that?” She asked, and plucked the papers from his hands. It was all he could do not to snatch them back. His body ran taut with nerves as she uncrumpled one of the sheets, tilting her head. “This is really good, where is it?” 

It was wrong. Molly was an escape from everything that might make him think of the past, of and now she knew what Hannibal’s kitchen looked like.

Will managed to get the paper out of her hands without looking too desperate. Or at least, he hoped he did. He crumpled it up again, forcing a smile.

“Just part of that project. I’ve been getting a lot of these, don’t want them to pile up.” He walked to the fireplace as fast as he could without it coming off as running, and tossed the paper inside. He watched it burn, and only when the last recognizable piece turn to ash did the tight feeling in his chest begin to relax. Hannibal wasn’t his friend. He wasn’t his family. He wrote to Hannibal out of necessity, that was all. He didn’t deserve to enjoy it. He shouldn’t, he shouldn’t enjoy it. He didn’t. 

He wouldn’t write back, he told himself, even if Jack came calling again. _Hannibal was dangerous_. Even like this, seemingly tame, doing nothing but exchanging words, barely teasing subjects they used to dance around like professionals, Hannibal was dangerous. He would get drawn back in. He wasn’t so full of pride he couldn’t admit that. He couldn’t give Hannibal the opportunity to lure him. He couldn’t turn away from his new life just to feel that rush of adrenaline at the sight of Hannibal’s ridiculous handwriting. 

 

 

Jack called seven times over the next week. Will deleted every voicemail and refused to do more than glance at the texts. Eventually, Will reasoned, Jack would get the hint. Friday morning Will rolled over and was relieved to see no new alerts on his phone.

He went downstairs to see Wally neatly stacking pieces of toast on a plate.

"Wally made breakfast," Molly announced. Will took in the fuzzy state of her unbrushed hair, strands reaching out in all directions and neatly glowing in the morning light. His eyes traced the smile on her lips until it faded. "Something wrong?"

"You're beautiful," he said, nearly an after thought, continuing his descent down the stairs. She was wearing slippers in contrast to his bare feet, and his cold toes envied them. Molly laughed, and Wally turned around to make a face. 

"Nothing wrong with that, I hope," she said teasingly.

"It's too early for this," Wally declared, and Will wondered how he could be so lucky. 

He grabbed a piece of toast and sat down at the table, eyes wandering to the window. The other two joined him after a second. "I finished that project," he said, mostly to Molly.

"Yeah? You must be glad about that." 

'Yeah." Will held the toast to his lips, watching the snow. Maybe glad wasn't the right word. Relieved, probably. He dragged his mind back to the conversation, looking over at Molly.

"I've got coupons," she said, resting her head in one hand. "Shopping day?"

Wally narrowed his eyes, considering. "Can we stop by Game Stop?"

"Yeah, but you'll only get to _play_ what you buy if you start remembering to feed your pets." 

The pre-teen gave a sheepish nod.

Will realized suddenly that he hadn't finished the rest of Hannibal's letter. A part of him felt the guilt he was starting to grudgingly accept as inevitable, the other was curious. How would Hannibal have ended it? Tried to sway Will into writing back? A subtly veiled threat? A dig against his life choices?

"Do you miss your dogs, Will?" Hannibal said in his mind's eye, wearing a three piece suit and a god awful paisley tie. "You have replaced your pets as easily as you replaced me." 

Will snorted, wandering around near the bookshelves in Hannibal's office. "I didn't replace you. You weren't my wife, Hannibal."

"No of course not."

Bizarrely, Will found himself wondering if Hannibal's next retort would be 'I'm not female,' remembering the article that had made him want to kill Freddie Lounds for real, where she'd called them 'murder husbands'. Then he thought to himself, 'this isn't real', and 'what the fuck am I doing?' 

He blinked himself out of his thoughts, finding Molly was rambling about a particularly rude e-mail from an ex-coworker. He grounded himself firmly in the present and pushed thoughts of Hannibal out of his mind. It certainly never occurred to him what Hannibal might do if anyone ever spoke to him the way Molly's coworker had.

 

 

Later that day they went shopping. Will wasn't particularly in the mood to be out and about— he rarely was, if ever— but it was nice to see Molly dragging Walter around to different stores, insisting he needed new shoes, and to see the barely concealed eye roll on the kids face. It felt normal. Normal was good. 

"We're gonna stop in here for bit," Molly declared, standing in front of one of three department stores the mall boasted. Wally groaned. "Can you grab us a table in the food court? We shouldn't be long." 

"Yeah, sure." Will smiled, and then aimed a commiserating look at Wally (hang in there, kid), to which he received one of grim determination. _For the games_ , his eyes seemed to say.

Will chuckled as he headed in the opposite direction. The mall was warm with all the bodies moving about in heated conditions, and Will peeled out of his coat, folding it over his arm. The noise was was irritating. So much noise. Children screaming, teenagers laughing, sale attendants calling out deals. It made him appreciate their little cabin in the woods that much more.

He'd nearly reached the food court when a small blonde blur barreled into his legs, nearly causing him to fall over. It didn't take long to regain his balance. He looked down, blinking down at the rosy cheeked child who blinked up at him. 

"Harry!" 

The shout was so loud Will flinched, watching as the kid— he had to be around seven or eight— was yanked back by his arm. Will caught sight of scars poking out from the end of his sleeve.

The woman who’d done it had a cigarette in her mouth and a  pinched, tired look on her face. She didn't look in his direction.

"No harm done," he assured her, unable to help frowning at the way 'Harry' struggled against her grip.

"How many times do I have to tell you to watch where you're going?" The words had the air of an echo, as if she'd said them many times before, and was prepared to say them many more in the future. 

Will was compelled to say something else. "It's fine, really." He just couldn't think of what. 

The woman fixed him with a sharp glare. "He doesn't need encouragement. You just don't listen, little brat."

The woman was already walking away, and Will was certain that he wasn't meant to hear that. It wouldn't have been that unusual, but there was something in the way the child squirmed to get away, the way the woman's hand moved from his arm to the back of his neck, squeezing, that made Will watch them until they disappeared into the crowd.

"Terribly rude," Hannibal said from somewhere to his left. 

"How would you do it?"

Hannibal tsked, and Will turned to face him.

"Too easy, Will. How would _you_ do it?" 

Will blinked slowly. Then he closed his eyes. The pendulum swung.

_I follow her to her home and wait until she sleeps. I can't do what I need to there, so I drug her and take her somewhere else. A warehouse. The child won't sleep through the night but he knows better than to leave his room until morning, when he'll find his mother missing and call the police._

_I light one of the cigarettes I found in her nightstand and press circular marks against her skin until she wakes up. She's scared, and doesn't understand what's happening. I don't need her to._

"Will?" 

Will blinked. The image of the fearful, trembling woman kneeling at his feet replaced by Molly with a puzzled look on her face. Will felt himself start to tremble, and it took everything he had not to let his knees buckle.

"I thought you were gonna grab a table?" 

"Sorry, I." He couldn't think of an excuse. "Must have spaced out." 

Her expression turned to one of fond exasperation. "Let's hope there's one open."

Wally was holding two shopping bags. He gave him a curious look, but Will pretended not to see. 

"Her lungs are obviously out, but I think I could easily procure two fine cuts from her legs." 

Will ignored Hannibal, walking in step with him, angry at his brain for conjuring visions when he was trying to be _normal._  

"Perhaps a barbecue recipe? I think she would appreciate being smoked." 

Will hated himself for wanting to smile.

 

 

That night, Wally found him just before bed with a guilty look on his face. "Dad? There's something wrong with the dogs."


	4. Surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And there came a great red dragon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, but the next one is much longer! This scene didn't turn out quite how I wanted, but I still like it I think?

The vet's office was permeated with an inescapable musk. Will's knee bounced with nerves as he, Molly and Walter waited for the verdict.

They were fairly sure it had to be something the dogs had gotten into when Walter took them outside after they'd gotten back from the mall yesterday. The kid blamed himself, but he and Molly had been quick to reassure him it wasn't his fault. Dogs would be dogs.

Finally, the vet stepped out.

"Mr. and Mrs. Graham, your dogs are very sick."

Walter looked up, brow furrowed. "Are the dogs gonna die?"

Molly was quick to reassure him. "No, sweetie, the dogs aren't going to- are they gonna die?"

Will resisted the urge to sigh as the look on Wally's face grew more miserable.

"No, they'll be fine. We'll keep them here and treat them overnight."

Will released a breath, finally able to stop his twitching.

"Next time," Molly said gently as they left. "Watch them very carefully when you take them out."

It was sort of bullshit, since Will knew he was guilty himself of letting them roam around and do what they wanted, but sometimes it was his job as a parent to perpetuate bullshit, so he nodded in agreement.

It felt odd to go home to quiet. Will shrugged off his coat as he stepped in, still expecting the dogs to come running to greet them.

Molly sighed. "How about a movie?" She suggested. Wally shrugged, and though Will didn't particularly want to he agreed anyway.

  
When Will woke up he, Molly and Walter were all curled up on the bed, and his laptop was still on. He couldn't remember why they'd decided to use that instead of the TV.

He wanted to close his eyes, but something felt off. Wrong. He went still, closing the PC, and as the machine slowly whirred to sleep he heard it, what must have woken him up. He couldn't quite place the sound at first, but seconds later his body went cold.

Someone was in the house.

At first he told himself it had to be paranoia, but instinct wouldn't let him lay idle. He shook Molly awake, which woke up Walter, and he placed a finger over his lips when she started to speak.

"Take Walter, go to his room and get out the window."

There was a second where it looked like Molly would say something, but finally she just nodded. Walter's face was dazed, as if he hadn't decided whether this was a dream or not. Molly put on her slippers, and the two of them snuck quietly out the door.

Will grabbed the landline and dialed 911, then followed.

He was right behind them, for a time. He watched them make it to Wally's room, and then he waited a beat, before sidling close to the wall. He could hear better now, was sure of it. Someone was in the house.

Not a burglar, though. It didn't sound like they were going through anything. Will heard the faintest creak of the staircase, and he pressed himself closer to the wall, fading into the shadows. In the corner of his eye, he could see antlers rising up from the darkness.

Will didn't consider leaving with Molly and Walter. He should have. That would have been the normal thing to do. Whoever it was could have an accomplice outside, waiting for them.

The intruder reached the top of the staircase, and Will struck. He could see the man's gun, and he grabbed his wrist to try and disarm him. It had been too long, though, years of his toughest exercise being running around with the dogs. The man overpowered him, but Will lashed out with his knee. The ex-profiler felt a sharp jerk on his arm- and then they were both tumbling down the stairs.

It was disorienting. Will hit his head on the wall at the bottom, a groan leaving him, and he was still just long enough for the man to kick him over onto his back.

There was a blinding pain in his shoulder. Will gasped, and blinked hard, recognizing the pain of a knife. The man's mask had come off in their tumble. He looked completely average, save for the cleft lip. He was baring his teeth to reveal a jagged set, and suddenly it clicked.

Somehow he found the strength to throw a hard punch, and caught the man in the jaw. It sent him back, far enough to give Will time to pull the knife from his shoulder.

The Tooth Fairy let out a roar, more mythical beast than fairy, and Will dug the blade into his gut and ripped it across the delicate flesh. There was none of the finesse that Hannibal had used with him. He wanted this man's insides to spill out on his floor.

The Tooth Fairy gasped, and fell, but Will didn't stop. He kneed him in the jaw, and when the head flew back, time seemed to stand still. Will had a vision of teeth sinking into the delicate flesh of that throat, ripping it clean through. Will's fingers twitched.

He grabbed the man's shirt with one hand, and with the other slammed his fist into his cheek. Once, twice, a third time, and then again. All he could feel was the jolt of the body he held up. The solid connection of flesh against flesh. Wet, heat, and when Will finally sucked in a breath and opened his eyes, the Tooth Fairy was dead.

Will dropped the man's collar, stumbling back as adrenaline faded. His heart was pounding, and it was hard to take in air. So difficult, he felt lightheaded. Like he was standing on top of a mountain. Triumphant. He felt euphoric.

An ache ran through his fingers, pooling at his knuckles. They twitched, and his eyes were drawn to them. His hands were covered in blood, black in the moonlight, and he couldn't stop staring. It was beautiful.

Will fell to his knees, overwhelmed.

 

That was how the police found him. Will barely remembered their questions. He drifted in and out of awareness. His shoulder got stitches, the floor was washed, his hands were cleaned.

It didn't take long until Jack got involved.

"We're certain it was him. The dentures he was wearing matched the reproduction Zeller made after the Leeds' case." Jack paused, like he was waiting for something. Will had nothing to say. "...Will. I'm sorry we didn't catch him sooner."

This made Will look up. "No you're not." The words came out automatically, but when he saw Jack's eyes harden he knew they were true. If it hadn't been him, it would have been some other family, and they would have died. The only thing that saved Will was dumb luck and lingering instincts from his time on the force.

Will turned his head away, wishing his position in the hospital bed would allow him a more solid rejection to give people. As it was, he was at Jack's mercy until he left.

They hadn't even considered hand-cuffing him. He had, once again, caught a notorious murderer. No one questioned that the killing had been done in self-defense. No one wanted to question it. Then again, Freddie Lounds had yet to come sniffing around. One thing to be grateful for.

"It's over, Will. He won't be hurting any more families, thanks to you."

Will didn't respond. After a little while, Jack left. Molly stepped in almost immediately after.

"Hey, you." She smiled. Molly had been the perfect pillar of support. Will's old coworkers and acquaintances he didn't really remember having told him this regularly, when they came to visit, and thank him for 'keeping their homes safe'. She'd waited with Walter by the car until the police came. She hadn't seen what happened. As far as she knew he'd been caught by Dolarhyde- that was his name, Francis Dolarhyde- trying to escape with them and he'd been forced to take a life. That was the official story.

He didn't tell anyone that he'd waited. That he'd felt a thrill of excitement, trying to wrestle the gun from the man. That he hadn't killed Dolarhyde to protect families, or for revenge, our out of anger. He didn't tell anyone, and no one asked.

"Hey."

Molly sat next to him on the bed, drawing idle circles on the blanket. "What did Jack want?" She asked after a second. Will couldn't help the way his face hardened.

"What he always wants."

Molly managed a weak smile. Silence returned, and Will tried to relax, tried to say something to her. Something reassuring. Something she needed to hear.

"Do you think," she started suddenly, and Will flinched. "That... this would have happened, even if you had gone when Jack wanted to?"

Will stared straight ahead, trying to ignore the antlers creeping into his line of vision. "I think it was inevitable."

It was the wrong thing to say. Molly shuddered, and Will swallowed, finally looking at her.

"Jesus Will," she breathed.

Guilt made him bow his head. "I'm... sorry, I didn't mean that. I just..."

"I thought I'd lost you." Molly stared out the window, her face looking a little red, and puffy. Finally, she snorted. "Listen to me... I sound like one of those love interests from some- some movie." The joke fell flat, but it made it easier for Will to force a smile.

"Wally says hi," she sighed after a moment. Will took a moment to wonder why he hadn't come as well, but didn't ask. He'd been there when he woke up after surgery, him and Molly. That was enough.

"Hi," Will said, trying for playful. He ran the hand attached to the arm that didn't ache through his hair. "I don't feel like myself yet."

Molly shrugged. "That's okay... you got stabbed. I don't blame you for feeling a little different." She wiped her eyes, and Will realized she was crying. "I don't, though. Feel different. I'll be right here when you're ready to get out of this place." Molly inhaled deeply. "Mmh. Some birthday, huh? I told mom I wouldn't be long, and you look like you need some rest anyway."

His mother-in-law had never forgiven him for taking the place of Molly's first husband. "Yeah, I'm tired," he said, giving her the excuse she needed.

He watched her leave. He'd completely forgotten about his birthday.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't find when Will's actual birthday was, so I guess now it's kind of even more AU? 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


	5. Persuasion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will realizes how Hannibal aches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On vacation, but I finished this page a bit ago. Not sure if chapter 6 will be up tomorrow. Enjoy! Lots of dialogue from the show here as events start to line up.

When he got out of the hospital, Molly and Walter made him a feast of all his favorite things, everything from fried catfish to brown sugar pop tarts.

The next day, he went to Baltimore.

Alana was surprised to hear the request.

"You think Hannibal did it," she said, staring at him with eyes that were far more calculating than he remembered. She no longer walked with a cane, and she looked different. Good, but different.

"I don't know what I think."

"Hannibal is consulting with the FBI on a case where a serial killer murders families. Immediately after, the family belonging to the man Hannibal is known to be obsessed with is attacked. It sounds suspicious."

Will gritted his teeth, but kept his face calm. "If I thought Hannibal was responsible, don't you think I'd be pressing charges?"

Alana studied his face, and he was careful it remained neutral. Finally he passed whatever inspection she was giving him. "Why do you want to see him, Will?"

"I want to find out more about the man who tried to kill me and my family. At this point, Hannibal is probably the only one who really knows him." He hoped the lie doesn't sound as practiced to her as it does to him.

Whether she really believed him or not, Alana gave him a slow nod. "All right. Be careful, Will. Writing letters isn't the same as seeing him in person."

Will wanted to ask how, but Alana was Hannibal's watchdog. Of course she knew. She probably read all of their letters. The thought made him feel a bit queasy, so instead of responding he just nodded.

Hannibal's cell wasn't what he expected. The back wall was covered in bookshelves filled with books, and there was a table with sheets of paper spread about it. A bed off to one side, and a toilet. It looked classy, of all things, and Will could absolutely picture Hannibal prowling around inside. He didn't know why he ever bothered imagining him in a cell like the one he'd had. Instead of bars there was a clear wall that gave him an uninterrupted view of the man himself.

Hannibal Lecter.

When the doors opened, Hannibal was standing by one of the bookshelves, his back to him. Will knew he wasn't expecting him. Even still, as he approached, Hannibal seemed to stiffen, and then relax. He could hear the other inhale.

"Still wearing that same aftershave, I see."

"I keep getting it for Christmas." Will hated himself for being impressed. Hannibal turned, and there was a faint smile on his lips. He looked so much the same, yet different. His hair was shorter. There was stubble on his cheeks. Just as Will imagined, he wore his prison uniform as if it were a full three piece suit, completely dignified and without a hint of shame.

It was like he'd suddenly started breathing after years of holding his breath

"Hello Will." Hannibal stepped forward, closer to the barrier separating them, and instinctively, Will moved closer too. Until he noticed, and stopped himself, several feet back. "It's good to see you're well."

"I'm just about worn out with you crazy sons of bitches."

Hannibal's face took on that smug expression, so familiar, if Will had any doubts before, they were gone in an instant.

"The essence of the worst in the human spirit is not found in the crazy sons of bitches. Ugliness is found in the faces of the crowd. Will. Did you enjoy my gift? I did my best under my current conditions."

Will nearly choked. "Gift?"

"Tell me, Will." Will was irritated by the way he kept saying his name. "Did you kill him to protect your family? Or because you knew you could? Because you'd been waiting for the opportunity?"

Hannibal had been waiting for this, Will realized. He'd known that he would come. Not when, of course, but he'd known. He'd expected. Will had played right into his hands. Again.

Will's hand clenched into a fist, and he was glad it was hidden under the jacket he'd peeled off before entering. He didn't want to give Hannibal the satisfaction of seeing him frustrated.

"I killed him because I had to." It wasn't the best thing he could have said, and he could tell by the look on Hannibal's face he should have chosen his words more carefully. He sucked in a breath, reminding himself why he came. "What did you say to him?"

"Save yourself. Kill them all." Hannibal didn't even bother pretending. Will didn't know if it upset him more that he didn't. "Then I gave him your home address. How's the wife?"

Will scowled. "How's my wife? She's lucky."

"Before he became the Red Dragon, this shy boy would never have dared any of this. The Great Red Dragon was freedom to him, shedding his skin, the sound of his voice, his own reflection."

Hannibal spoke quickly, taking a step closer to the glass. Will knew he was talking about the Tooth Fairy, but didn't understand the reference to the Dragon. He wanted to understand, though. Somewhere in Hannibal's speech were leaked impressions splashed upon him whenever he'd unwittingly glanced at the story in the newspaper, theories that floated around in his head like gnats he could only try to swat at. Will had to listen.

"The building of a new body and the othering of himself, the splitting of his personality, all seem active and deliberate. He craved change."

"He didn't murder those families." The realization was slow, and he knew to anyone but he and Hannibal the wording would be wrong. "He 'changed' them?"

There was something like pride in Hannibal's eyes. "Don't you crave change, Will?"

Will hated when Hannibal asked questions that he already knew the answers to. He wanted to tell the man not to send him any more letters. That he wouldn’t respond any more.The emotion swirling made it difficult, though. Anger, curiosity, a deep seated ache. He hadn't even seen a picture of Hannibal in such a long time. It was hard to stare at him directly, yet he didn't want to look away.

"Your wife." Hannibal paused, and Will could tell the thought wasn't complete. He was caught off guard at seeing Hannibal at a loss for words. Or maybe he had lost his touch, spending so much time in this place. That sharp wit was finally beginning to dull. The thought hurt more than it should have.

Then Hannibal went on, "I imagine she wears her heart on her sleeve like a badge of courage. Charmingly plain. Did she try to convince you to go with Jack, Will?"

"What are you trying to say?" He bit his tongue to keep the man's name from slipping out.

"You might have had an easier time escaping me had you married someone who was not my direct opposite."

Will was almost startled into stammering. "I didn't. Molly's not."

"So you chose a woman who reminded you of me, then?"

"Damned if I do, damned if I don't? She has nothing to do with you. Not everything in my life is a decision carefully calculated with you in mind."

Hannibal stared, and the 'not anymore' rang clear between them without a word being said. They caught each other's eyes for a single, brief moment, and Will had to look away before he drowned.

"You haven’t told Jack, have you Will?" Hannibal lifted his chin. "Why come here and confront me yourself if you merely intended another goodbye?"

Oh. Hannibal thought he was saying goodbye. Again. Will was not entirely sure he wasn’t. Hannibal had tried to kill him. Again. This time, his wife and child were involved. He ignored the voice that said Molly and Walter were out of the house before they were in real danger. They could have died. If he hadn't woken up, they all could have died. It would have been Hannibal's fault. On the off chance he survived, he was sure the man would have enjoyed throwing in his face that they were once again alone without each other. He should be saying goodbye.

"It won't be the same."

"Molly and I want it to be the same,” Will said, almost distracted. He tried to decipher the look on Hannibal’s face. “I have a new family now."

For the first time, Hannibal was visibly ruffled. Will could see his lip twitch. For some reason Will felt like smiling. He shook his head, and turned to leave.

Hannibal's voice stopped him when he was halfway out the door.

"Will. Was it good to see me?"

He considered the question.”Good? No.” There were far better words to describe it. He would let Hannibal guess what they were.

 

Alana was waiting.

"Did you find out what you needed to know?"

Will nodded as he shrugged his jacket back on. Alana watched him carefully, but he didn't even need to try to keep his face blank, now. He felt blank.

"Still think he's innocent?"

"Hannibal's not stupid Alana. He could jeopardize his standing with the FBI by sending the Dragon for me." Will inwardly cursed his wording, hoped she didn't read into it.

She asked him a few more questions, but he gave her nothing, and when he blinked again he was sitting in his car, seatbelt fastened.

Will gripped the steering wheel tight, and then released it. A soft breath left his mouth, and then another, and then a chuckle. Before long Will was gasping for air, leaning hard back against his seat with tears streaming down his cheeks.

Hannibal Lecter had sent him a birthday murder. It was the best gift he'd ever gotten.

  
The next day Jack stopped by his motel room. He didn't ask how the man knew where it was. Will made them two terrible cups of instant coffee and took a seat on the bed.

"What can I do you for, Jack?"

"Someone's in a good mood," the man mused. Will watched him settle into the chair across the room with a small smile, and thought about simpler times.

"Things are just starting to settle down. I hope you're not here to shake them up again."

"Depends on your definition."

Will sighed. “I haven’t heard anything in the papers. There can’t be another killer loose already.”

“No, this is about old friends.” Jack pulled a piece of paper from his pocket, and unfolded it carefully. He handed it over. Will found himself staring at a picture of himself laughing hysterically, sitting in the parking lot of the BSHCI. An article. The headline was: Has Will Graham Finally Gone Crackers?

He scoffed.

“You went to go see Hannibal,” Jack said matter-of-factly. Will found himself irritated that he couldn’t lift a finger out of place without daddy Jack coming to wag a finger at him. He refused to rise to the bait, simply sipping at his own cuppa and raising an eyebrow.

“You already knew that. Before you knew I was in Baltimore,” he responded after he’d swallowed and burned his tongue. “Alana had to have told you.”

Jack sighed through his nose. “She did. I wish you would have.”

“Does it matter?”

"It does."

Will resisted the urge to roll his eyes when Jack gave him a look so disapproving he really did feel like a child again. "Just spit it out, Jack."

"I don't think I need to ask you this, but I'm going to ask anyway. Did Lecter have anything to do with you being attacked?"

Will was waiting for it, so when the question came, he was able to make the appropriate expression. Bewilderment. Irritation. Anger, he didn't have to fake. "That man went after my family, Jack. Do you really think I'd let Hannibal get away with something like that? After everything?" The words made Will want to cringe, but he managed to hold it back. He should want Hannibal to pay for what he'd done. He should have reported it, because he'd known immediately who was behind it. The whole thing reeked of Hannibal.

Yet, he didn't say anything. He still wasn't saying anything. He knew he probably wouldn't, either. What he didn't know was why. He could almost hear Hannibal in his head. We still help our families when we can.

'Hannibal isn't my family,' he thought to himself, but it came out sounding more petulant than anything.

"I just had to ask," Jack said, tone still suspicious. Will didn't care.

He turned away, and once the man had finished his coffee he kindly escorted Jack out.

 

  
"I awoke in the fresh-smelling semidark, knowing in some primal way that I was near the sea."

Will wasn't sure what made him decide to attend one of Bedelia's lectures. It meant another day in Baltimore. He didn't have to lie to Molly. Visiting old friends, inspired by Jack's sudden reappearance in his life.

He sat near the front of the lecture hall, staring Bedelia down. How was it that she, of all people, had gotten away unscathed? She'd gotten closer to him than anyone dared. Then came back and reintroduced herself into the world, victorious. How had she done it?

"My journey to damnation began when I was swallowed by the beast. Thank you."

Applause filled the space. Will waited while people stepped up to ask questions, to shake her hand. He waited until everyone had gone before he advanced. Bedelia knew he was here, he'd come in late, made sure she'd seen him walk to his seat. She had countered with an overly familiar hand on his shoulder, that had sent anger rolling through him for reasons he couldn't name.

"Poor Dr. Du Maurier, swallowed whole. Suffering inside Hannibal Lecter's bowels for what must have felt like an eternity."

All she did was give him a patient look, like she was waiting for a child acting up to finish it's tantrum. He pressed on.

"You didn't lose yourself, Bedelia, you just crawled so far up his ass you couldn't be bothered."

"Hello, Will."

He pushed deeper. "You hitched your star to a man commonly known as a monster. You're the Bride of Frankenstein."

At this her eyes lit up, expression tightened. "We've both been his bride."

He tried to ignore that. "How did you manage to walk away unscarred?" he couldn't help but ask. "I'm covered in scars."

"I wasn't myself. You were. Even when you weren't, you were."

"I wasn't wearing adequate armor."

"No. You were naked. Have you been to see him?"

He felt dirty when he answered, swallowing. "Yes."

Bedelia seemed completely unsurprised, and suddenly he wished he'd lied. "You haven't learned your lesson, have you? Or did you just miss him that much?"

Will didn't bother to explain the circumstances, knowing she'd only see it as an excuse. It would have been one. "Have you been to see him?" he inquired instead.

Her lips twitched in a barely there smile. "I've seen enough of him. I was with him behind the veil. You were always on the other side." She made to leave, then.

Will frowned, knowing he hadn't quite said all he needed to. "Something we should talk about."

She didn't stop. "You'll have to make an appointment."

  
He did. Later that day he sat in the home office of Bedelia Du Maurier and felt like he'd stepped back through time, even though they'd never had any sessions. She watched him expectantly.

Will suddenly had no idea what to say. "Have you had any contact with him?" He blurted, more on a whim than anything.

Bedelia inhaled, looking off into space. "He sends me greeting cards on Christian holidays and my birthday. He always includes a recipe."

The jolt of emotion that coiled in his stomach at that felt almost like jealousy. The first contact he'd gotten from Hannibal in three years had been the letter about the Dragon. "If he does end up eating you, Bedelia, you'd have it coming."

"I can't blame him for doing what evolution has equipped him to do."

"If we just do whatever evolution equipped us to do, murder and cannibalism are morally acceptable."

"They are acceptable."

Will stared hard at her.

Bedelia smiled, and went on. "To murderers and cannibals."

His lips curled. "And you," he pointed out.

She didn't disagree. "And you."

Will could feel himself slipping back into the person he'd used to be- before meeting Molly and letting her file down his edges. The verbal sparring was refreshing, exciting. With none of the guilt that came from talking to Hannibal. Almost.

"How is one murderer worthy of compassion and not another? All that time you were with Hannibal behind the veil, you'd already killed one patient. It ever occur to you to kill another?" How much easier would that have been, if Bedelia had just ended it? How many more lives would have been saved?

He didn't know. He did know though, that he never would have been satisfied with that ending. Hannibal still had yet to give either of them one.

Bedelia's lips pursed, her words slow and measured. "My relationship with Hannibal is not as passionate as yours. You are here visiting an old flame. Is your wife aware of how intimately you and Hannibal know each other?"

Will didn't like the way she phrased it, and knew Bedelia did it on purpose. "She's aware enough," he said, trying to remain unruffled.

"Hannibal gave you three years to build a family, confident that he would find a way to take them from you."

Will asked the question that hadn't left him alone. "What's he going to take from you?"

"Is it important to you that he take something from me?"

"Hannibal has agency in the world."

"Hannibal has no intention of seeing me dead by any other hand than his own, and only then if he can eat me. He's in no position to eat me now."

"If you play, you pay."

"You have paid dearly. It excites him to know that you are marked in this particular way."

"Why?"

"Why do you think?"

"Bluebeard's wife. Secrets you're not to know, yet sworn to keep."

Bedelia seemed almost offended. "If I'm to be Bluebeard's wife, I would have preferred to be the last."

It hit him so hard he might have toppled over, were he standing. It took him a second before he could form the words. Even then, they didn't sound quite right. "Is Hannibal... in love with me?"

Bedelia looked nearly disappointed in him. He was too flustered to wonder what that meant. "Could he daily feel a stab of hunger for you, and find nourishment at the very sight of you? Yes. But do you ache for him?"

 

 

 

 


	6. Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will waits.

He'd always known, in some way. He knew Hannibal was obsessed with him, wanted them to kill together. Hannibal had wanted them to run off to Florence, with Abigail. Hannibal, with his looks bursting of affection, his gentle touches. " _If I saw you every day, forever..._ "

Will inhaled sharply.

 

 

"Welcome back!"

Hannibal Lecter was in love with him, and he was sitting curled up in front of the fire place with his wife. It didn't change anything. He'd always known.

"So how was Baltimore? Have fun running around your old stomping grounds?"

Will wondered how best to answer. "I wouldn't say fun." He was once more grateful Molly didn't read tattlecrime. He let out a breath, aware his face was having problems setting into an expression other than 'blank'. "It was... enlightening."

"Yeah? Have an epiphany did you?"

"Something like that."

Molly turned over, resting her head on his chest. "So, since your birthday was kind of a bust this year, I was thinking we could celebrate it this weekend. What do you think? Maybe go somewhere with Wally?"

"Honestly, I kind of had enough birthday excitement. Can we just... save it for next year?"

He winced, but thankfully Molly just laughed. "I get it. Start fresh, yeah?"

"Yeah."

She tried to get up, but he held her down by tightening an arm around her back. "Not yet. Just... stay there."

"Okay," she agreed, obviously amused, but remained laying where she was. Will stared at the fire, face devoid of anything as he tried to lasso all the stray thoughts in his mind and shove them neatly back into the room dedicated to Hannibal Lecter.

A chill went up the back of his neck, and he turned his head, seeing Walter standing on the steps, watching him. Their eyes met, and after a second the pre-teen turned and disappeared upstairs.

 

 

"Tommy's mom had this little newspaper."

Will looked up from the magnifying glass, setting the bit of feather he held in his hand down. Wally was standing next to him. He'd noticed the other approaching, but had decided to feign ignorance until he actually spoke. Wally had been doing that often, lately. Coming up to him only to leave without saying anything.

"She did?" Will asked to prompt him, and noted the way the younger male wouldn't look in his eyes.

"Said you killed a guy and you were put in a mental hospital. Is it true?"

Will could feel his blood running cold. He swallowed, wetting his lips. "Yes." It seemed the simplest answer. Walter was too young to understand beyond that. "Yes. It bothers you, finding that out?" He said, feeling inexplicably like a certain psychiatrist. "Because I married your mom?"

Walter didn't say anything one way or another, but Will could read the answer on his face. He wondered if it bothered Molly. She said it didn't, but Molly had common sense. She knew that he hadn't actually killed those people. What she didn't know was that he'd sent Matthew Brown to kill Hannibal. That he'd spent what felt like an eternity gaining Hannibal's trust to execute an elaborate plan with Jack, a plan that he'd faltered on in the end, by trying to let Hannibal escape. She didn't know he'd sailed across an ocean intending to kill him. She didn't know a lot.

So he wondered, if she did know, would it bother her. It didn't matter, either way. He didn't intend on telling her.

 

 

 

Hannibal didn't send any more letters. Will waited, without realizing he was waiting. Whenever he got the mail he'd shift through and his eyes would search, wondering if inside one of the envelopes was a letter written with perfect penmanship. He didn't write to Hannibal, his excuses had run out.

He thought about telling Jack that Hannibal was the one who'd given the Dragon his address. He thought about telling Hannibal that he'd felt more alive killing the Dragon than he had in ages. That it was beautiful. He did none of those things.

He fixed his engines, tied his lures, laughed with Molly, played with Walter, and it was enough. It had to be. He was lucky here.

 

  
Will realized one day that he didn't know Hannibal's birthday. He wasn't surprised Hannibal had known when his was- Hannibal seemed to know everything a lot of the time. He didn't know Hannibal's. He didn't even know how old the man was, aside from older than him.

He came to this realization while standing in a small shop where he usually went to buy more lure-tying supplies. There were a variety of odds and ends- glass jars, novelty lamps, those buzzers that shocked people when you shook hands. Among these knick knacks was a small bin where several cards were lined up neatly, with elegant fonts saying things like 'Congratulations', and 'Happy Birthday'. There were also a few postcards declaring 'Wish you were here', but Will ignored those entirely.

He stared at the cards for a second, hands already full with everything he'd come to buy.

Will left the store with a new box of beads and feathers, a keychain with a small Rubik's cube for Walter, and a card that said 'Thank you', in small, nondescript type.

When he got home, he laid the card out on the kitchen table with a pen in hand.

He spent twenty minutes thinking to himself this was a bad idea. Later that day he mailed the card blank and unsigned.

 

 

"What is up with the electricity bill this month?"

The muttered words were utterly normal, and at first Will didn't even realize why they put him so on edge. Nearing the table however, from where he'd been nursing a cup of coffee on the counter, it clicked. "Is that the mail?"

"Yeah?" Molly looked up, raising an eyebrow as if to say 'obviously'. "You've been getting it so often, figured it was my turn."

Will inhaled, sitting slowly. "Anything for me?" He tried for nonchalance and wasn't sure if he made it.

"Yes, as a matter of fact."

Will's chest tightened. Molly slid over the piece of paper she'd been reading from. "Look at this! Isn't it ridiculous? I think Wally's been falling asleep with the TV on again..."

"Oh, yeah." Will deflated, then frowned, shaking his head. He had been expecting a response, of course. After two weeks he'd almost convinced himself he wasn't looking for a specific address whenever he got the mail.

It was unusual, that was all. Hannibal wouldn't have let something like that go without saying something in return.

Maybe silence was his response. Maybe Hannibal was forcing him to stew in it, the knowledge of ' _you liked it_ ' eating him alive.

Well, he refused to let it.

He could admit he enjoyed it. There was no point in lying to himself, it had gotten too difficult and tiring to. That didn't mean he had to give up the life he'd made. It didn't mean he didn't want to be exactly where he was.

He didn't love Hannibal, and he wasn't obsessed with him anymore.

Realizing his train of thought had jumped tracks, Will focused back on the present, forcing a smile. "We haven't really been good at turning the lights off, either."

Or rather, Molly hadn't. Ever since the Dragon attacked, the lights downstairs would mysteriously stay on in the dead of night, despite Will being sure he'd turned them off the night before.

Molly gave him a rueful grin. "Complaint noted." She nudged his leg with her sock clad foot, tugging back the bill to look at it and complain some more.

 

  
Days passed.

 

 

 

Weeks.

 

 

 

 

 

Months.

 

 

  
Will offered to mail out their Christmas cards that year. An extra was added to the stack, simple, in a green envelope with a handwritten note inside. 'Merry Christmas'. It almost wasn't worth the postage but he sent it anyway.

 

 

 

It was mid February before Will started to wonder if maybe something was wrong. Letting him stew or not, He had no doubt Hannibal wouldn't hesitate to write him back, if only to gloat about how Will needed him in his life and how he needed to embrace the dark side and blah blah blah. He wondered if Hannibal liked Star Wars.

 

  
In March, Will wondered if maybe Hannibal had just.... given up. If he'd gotten tired of chasing someone who had rejected him so many times. If he'd simply decided Will wasn't worth it. That he wasn't the dark prodigy he'd been hoping for.

 

 

 

  
"You know you already got the mail today, right?"

Will blinked, glancing over his shoulder at Molly. She was holding a baseball bat, bizarrely enough, and was staring at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Uh," Will said.

She pursed her lips, and rested the bat on her shoulder. "Are you expecting something in particular?"

"Uh," Will repeated, and then blinked, realizing he hadn't really planned to come outside. He'd just been sitting in front of the fireplace, mind racing, and then he was here. "No."

Molly tilted her head. "I'm taking Wally to baseball practice."

Will bit his tongue to keep himself from asking when he'd started baseball as the memory floated to the forefront of his mind. "Okay. That's great." He ran a hand down his face shaking his head.

He heard Molly come closer, then felt a hand on his shoulder. "You okay? You've been..."

"What?"

Molly hummed, narrowing her eyes.

"What?"

"I dunno." She rubbed at her chin, and Will's lips twitched. "Mopey?"

"Mopey?" He frowned, trying to make sense of that. "What does that mean?"

She laughed. "Oh, don't give me that face. You just seem... off. Like you're waiting for something."

Will exhaled, watching Molly for a minute, before his eyes fell to the ground. She really did know him, pretty well. He wanted to say of course she did, he'd married her for a reason, but... sometimes it surprised him.

"I dunno," she said again. "You're just in your head so much these days. Come out and see us once in a while, huh?"

He gave her a weak smile.

Wally came running out of the house a second later, and Will was more grateful for an end to the conversation than he thought he should be.

 

 

In May, Will got an invitation to Zeller's wedding. It had come out of nowhere, and Molly was the one who had seen it amongst the stack of junk mail and bills.

He was getting married in Baltimore.

"You should go," Molly suggested as he washed the dishes. He stared hard down at the soap suds the sponge worked up, dragging it around the inside of a frying pan over and over.

"He probably just invited me to be polite." Will shrugged, even as his stomach began to churn.

Molly kicked her legs from her place on the counter top, and Will briefly pictured what it would be like living with someone who would probably deem things like using things that were definitely not furniture as furniture unacceptable. 

He scrubbed harder.

"You'd have a chance to see your old crowd," she pointed out.

"A phone call would probably do it."

She laughed, and then quietened. For a second, the only sound that filled the kitchen was the sound of Will scrubbing too hard.

"I just want you to have some good memories in that place," Molly said, and Will swallowed.

"Okay. I'll go."

Molly smiled, and Will told himself that pretending not going was an option wasn't the same as lying.

 

 

The wedding was nice. Simple, traditional ceremony with a church and a priest and a lovely bride who Will thought he might have seen wandering around the forensics lab back when he was working for the FBI. Jimmy was the best man.

Will smiled and clapped and had cake. It wasn't bad. The strangest sense of envy ran through him, though, at all the happy congratulations the pair received.

"Will, you made it," Brian said, obviously surprised by that fact. Will hadn't had a chance to talk to him all evening, swarmed as he was by friends and family. He offered the man a smile, but wasn't sure what to say.

'Wouldn't have missed it' seemed too much, and nothing else seemed to fit. Finally he settled on 'Congratulations'.

They talked for a bit about the usual, life, the weather, and sports. Brian asked how many dogs he had with a smile. It felt surreal.

"Melinda's great." Brian found the beautiful bride across the room, a smitten look on his face. Will was surprised he hadn't gotten to bragging about his new wife sooner in the conversation. "And she's in forensics too, I don't have to censor myself. It's nice to talk to someone who gets it, you know?"

"Yeah," Will croaked, and then cleared his throat. "I'd love to meet her."

"You'll love her. Next time you're in the area bring Molly with you, we can have you over for dinner. That's what married couples do, right?" Brian grinned, as if they were sharing some wonderful joke.

Before long Jimmy showed up and dragged Brian off for something, and Will spent the rest of the evening drinking wine and staring down at a piece of cake that he never finished.

 

 

"Will, isn't this a surprise."

Alana had a careful smile on her face. Will could see right through it. He sat down on the couch, noticing all the ways her office had stayed the same.

"You called last time," she noted, remaining standing. Will wondered if she were trying a power play.

"I was in the area."

She tilted her head. "Brian's wedding?" She asked, and he nodded. She took in a breath, folding her arms across her chest. "I was invited. I wasn't able to go, though. Hannibal bit off one of the nurses ears."

Will barely avoided flinching at the name. Instead he dropped his eyes to his lap. "What did they do?"

Alana was silent a second too long, and he glanced up. She was staring at his face. "Why do you assume they did something?"

Feeling at a disadvantage, Will stood, wandering towards her desk. "Hannibal rarely does anything without reason."

"Maybe he just wanted to see what would happen."

Alana hadn't moved, and so Will had to turn to see her. "What did happen?"

She gave him a wan smile. "He lost his privileges. No more books, no more drawings, no more toilet." Alana actually sounded amused. "I think he wanted to see if I would go through with my threats."

Will didn't think that was the case at all. He wanted to know what Hannibal's relationship with the nurse was, what they'd done, or hadn't done, if he'd taken time to cultivate a repartee between them, enough so they would let their guard down at the right moment. Or maybe, it was a need to rebel. He wondered what Hannibal would take simply to defy Alana.

"He promised to kill me, you know," she said, almost idly, still watching Will's face. "He reminds me of that, sometimes. Like I could ever forget."

"What are you doing, Alana?" Will already knew, but he felt compelled to ask. As if he needed to be reminded of what sort of person Hannibal was. As if he didn't know the man nearly better than he knew himself. Certainly better than Alana.

"What are you doing here, Will?" Alana countered.

"I was in the area."

"Will." Alana walked closer, eyes slightly narrowed, a swagger in her step that she'd gained somewhere between working for Mason Verger and becoming Hannibal's jailor. "Is this about the letters?"

"What?" The blunt question startled him. She stood next to him, exhaling a little sigh through her nose. Her face read of disappointment.

"They never got past me."

This time he was genuinely confused. "What?"

"I never gave them to him."

Will stared at Alana, met her eyes briefly. First was dawning comprehension, then more confusion, irritation, and finally anger. ' _How dare she interfere_.' The thought felt foreign in his head, but it returned, louder than the first time, and he found himself feeling the same. ' _How dare she_.'

Alana rested a hand on his shoulder. "Will. Hannibal is a psychopath. Whatever you think he feels about you isn't real. He'll find someone else to manipulate. The nurses, another investigator who inevitably comes sniffing around, a fan girl. Or boy," she granted. Her words were sharp, and Will had to force himself not to throw her hand off him. "If that doesn't convince you, then remind yourself that he is locked up for good. Out of your reach. I'm not going to give him your letters, and I'm not going to give you his."

Will's jaw clenched, fingers twitching at the thought that Hannibal had written him. His eyes rose up, but didn't reach Alana's face. They stopped at her neck. He thought about how easy it would be, to reach out and just let himself squeeze.

Alana studied him. Then she leaned closer. "And if that's not enough," she said, almost in a whisper, "then think about your wife. Your child." She tilted her head. "What are you doing here, Will?"

He felt numb.

Will stepped to the side, and Alana's hand fell. He swallowed, ran a hand through his hair, and stood there for much longer than he should have. Alana, for her part, waited patiently.

Finally, he moved to the door, and then spoke. "I was in the area. I just came to say hi."

Alana smiled. "Hi, Will."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing Alana was fun. >w< I don't have anything against her, but I feel like she's a very different person in season 3 than she was in season 1.


	7. Temptation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will tells himself he's not having an affair.

Will returned home feeling like Alana had dumped a bucket of cold water on him. He felt thoroughly chastised, thought of Molly calling him 'mopey'. Of barely noticing Wally's new baseball team. Hannibal was making his life fall apart once again, and he hadn't even done anything. He'd done absolutely nothing. Alana had made sure of that.

Despite telling himself he should be grateful to Alana for preventing him from doing something stupid, he couldn't help but be angry. Really _angry_ , and when imagining what might happen should Hannibal escape, he couldn't bring himself to feel bad for thinking to himself she would have it coming, when Hannibal inevitably came for her. 

It bothered him that Hannibal didn't know. Hannibal should know, Hannibal should hold the cards in his hand and carefully choose his next move with an impenetrable poker face and zero remorse. 

Having control over the Chesapeake Ripper was making Alana cocky. Power hungry. 

It wasn't Will's place to do something though. No matter how _furious_ he was, thinking about Alana removing Hannibal's toilet, taking away his dignity. 

To distract from the swirling emotions, Will threw himself into his family, trying to restore Wally's faith in him, and reassure Molly that nothing had changed. He still loved her. He did. That much he was sure of.

 

 

Molly cheered the loudest out of all the parents when Wally slid onto home base. Will stood up with her and clapped and whooped. Wally looked back towards the stands and Molly stood up on the bench so he could pick her out of the crowd, and it was ridiculous and Will loved every moment.

 

 

Molly made friends with the parents of a friend of Wally's from baseball. They were fond of board games, so they arranged a game night.

While the boys played upstairs they laid out Cranium. Will had never played before. He and Molly won without much trouble. After the game was over, they all sat at the table for dinner. The wife, Emily, liked to cook. 

"It's not much," she said demurely, setting out a dish that sounded vaguely familiar. 

Will thought idly to himself that the presentation was sloppy.

"She likes to play humble but Emily here went to culinary school," the husband, Greg, boasted. Molly moaned her praises- she was a sucker for a well cooked piece of beef. 

Will smiled and thought to himself that he'd had better. 

Despite being comfortable around Molly, Will sometimes still had trouble with others. Molly did most of the talking, and it wasn't that bad.

"We should do that more often," Molly said on the drive home. "Why don't we do that more often?"

Will hummed. "We don't have friends?" 

Molly snorted, giving him a shove. "I might actually try that recipe Emily gave me," she said after a moment, thoughtful. 

Will groaned. "I'm not in the mood to put out a fire." 

This time Molly punched his arm, and Wally laughed loud enough to make Molly turn in her seat to try and flick his knees. 

Will laughed along, and told himself maybe it wouldn't be so bad if they did do this more often.

 

That night when Molly was dressing for bed, Will slid his hands around her waist and pressed a kiss on the side of her neck.

"What's the occasion?" She asked with a quiet chuckle. She smelt like strawberries. 

"What do you mean?" Will stepped closer, drawing her back against him.

Molly melted into his hold, tilting her head. "You haven't done this in a while."

Will went still for a second, trying to remember the last time they'd had sex. He couldn't. He swallowed, sliding a hand up her stomach. "No occasion. You're gorgeous." 

She made a pleased sound, and turned in his hold, kissing his cheek. "Sweet man," she whispered against his skin, and then connected their lips. 

Will let himself get lost in her. Molly was warm, and soft, and it really had been a while. She pushed him back towards the bed, and his hands slid up to unhook her bra. 

They didn't spend much time on foreplay- apparently Molly had noticed their lack of intimacy more acutely than he had. Not that he was complaining.

Eventually, one of them got up and turned off the lights. They slept tangled around one another, and Will was content. 

 

 

A month later, the phone rang. Whenever the landline rang it was almost always telemarketers, so Will didn't bother. Molly was home though, and he heard her pick up from his spot at his work table. He was making a new lure for Wally. So far, he hadn't shown interest in lure-tying himself, but Wally always appreciated the ones he made.

"It's for you."

Will looked up, surprised. Molly held out the phone, and he took it with a frown. "Who is it?"

"Something about Alana Bloom?"

Will blinked. He put the phone to his ear, and Molly went back to reading.

"Hello?" He said, holding the phone between his ear and his shoulder so he could keep working.

"Hello, Will."

Will dropped the tweezers and knocked the beads he'd been working with off the table. He cursed, and when he looked over saw Molly giving him a quizzical look. He gestured futilely to his tools, and then stood up abruptly. 

He walked stiffly towards the door, and then thought better of it and headed for the stairs. It felt like he was in a daze. Only when he was inside his room, suddenly aware of how fast his heart was beating, did he allow himself to respond. 

"H-hannibal?" He winced at the stutter. Then he looked over his shoulder, panicking, hoping Molly hadn't heard the name. 

"Indeed."

For several long seconds, Will couldn't think of what to say. "You. I mean, how did you get my number?" 

"Do you really care how I got your number, Will?"

He was startled into honesty. "No."

"I thought not." 

Will could hear Hannibal's smile, and thought he should be irritated, but only felt fond. Then the fog cleared, and he realized he was standing in his bedroom talking to known psychopath Hannibal Lecter. He thought of what Alana had said, what she'd _implied_ , and some of that old anger returned.

He closed the door. "Alana is convinced we're having an affair."

"Are we not?"

Will nearly fell over, pressing a hand over his stomach when warmth pooled too quickly. "I'm not. You're not- that's ridiculous."

"Not so," Hannibal said smoothly, sounding too smug. "Not all affairs must be that of flesh." 

Something about the words sent goosebumps rising up Will's arms, and he walked over to sit down on the bed, running a hand through his hair. It had been so long since he'd heard Hannibal's voice anywhere save for when he slept, or the odd daydream. He could picture his mouth curling around the words in his mind's eye, and wondered if Hannibal had ever tried to get rid of his accent, or if he knew that exoticism had an appeal for Americans.

"Tell me, Will. Does your Molly satisfy you... intellectually?"

Will had to bite his tongue to keep himself from answering before Hannibal had finished his sentence. He cleared his throat, ashamed at himself for assuming Hannibal would ask something so vulgar, and feeling oddly embarrassed all the same. "She satisfies me."

"As you say." Hannibal didn't sound convinced. "Is it safe to assume you haven't received my letters?"

There it was, the confirmation he'd been waiting for. Will could assume from Alana's wording, but he hadn't known for sure if Hannibal had written or not, until now. He inhaled, pressing the phone closer to his ear, like that would let him hear more. 

"How many?"

"I'll take that as a yes. I wrote you two letters, before Alana entered my cell to once more reprimand me for not minding my P's and Q's, smelling of you."

"Two?" How many months had passed before he'd relented and gone to Alana? Will pursed his lips at the disappointment that ran through him, feeling even more irritated when Hannibal spoke next.

"Were you expecting more?"

Will didn't respond.

"I would have hated to disrupt your new family."

"You sent a serial killer to my house," Will said flatly. It was hard not to smile. 

"Is it also safe to assume then, that you wrote me as well?" 

Will thought about lying. He knew he could lie to Hannibal, it would probably be even easier over the phone. "Yes."

There was a pause, and Will briefly worried the call had dropped.

"What did your first letter say?"

Will didn't know how Hannibal knew he'd sent more than one. Probably the same way he had known Hannibal had to have written him. He swallowed, thinking about lying again. He should have. But it had been so long. 

"It was a 'thank you' card. I didn't write anything in it."

"You are welcome, Will." 

Of course Hannibal knew what he'd been thanking him for. He looked down at his hand, recalling what it had looked like wet with blood, black in the moonlight. Beautiful. 

"Next time, I should like to hunt together. I imagine the sight of you bathed in blood is a lovely one indeed."

Will thought he should feel something other than pleased, at Hannibal calling him _lovely_. He wet his lips, thinking of how to respond. Before he could though, he heard someone approaching the door, and a flash of nerves ran through him.

"I have to go."

"Will."  Hannibal's voice caught him before he pressed the end call button. "Was it good to hear from me?"

The door opened, and Will closed his eyes. "No." He hung up. Molly stepped inside, looking at him curiously. 

"Oh, you were still on the phone?"

He stared down at his finger on the button, and nearly forgot Molly had asked a question. "Just hung up." He looked up at his wife, his _wife_ , and immediately felt guilt flood him.

"What did she want?"

"Who?"

"Alana Bloom? A man said he was going to put you through to her?" Molly's lips twitched, like she found his cluelessness terribly charming. 

"Oh. Just- to catch up. Talk about- um. One of her patients."

Molly hummed, moving over to her dresser to rifle through one of the drawers. "Isn't that illegal?"

"Not that kind of talk. She was asking uh." Will made a helpless gesture, and Molly laughed. 

"I get it."

Will was glad. He swore he used to be better at lying. He rose to take the phone back downstairs, and his mind swirled with thoughts of Hannibal.

How had he managed to call, Will wondered. He supposed he had Alana to thank, for going to taunt Hannibal, soon after their talk. Giving him his scent. He supposed still, that maybe he'd hoped that was what would happen. Had known that, if Hannibal knew he'd come, Hannibal would find a way. 

He felt triumphant. He raced to justify the feelings.

Despite everything that had happened, Hannibal had been his friend. The closest one he'd ever had. Of course he'd want to talk. To have some line of communication. Alana didn't get to decide whether he did or not. 

Hannibal was locked up, unable to hurt anyone. 

 _That's not true though_ , a voice whispered in his head. Hadn't the exact reason he'd been so hesitant to write in the first place been because he knew Hannibal was dangerous?

Will went to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of whiskey.

He couldn't justify it. He couldn't justify any of it. 

 

 

A month later to the day, Hannibal called again. Will was expecting it. 

He answered the phone, replied to Molly's questioning look with, "Alana," and then he went upstairs to his room and closed the door.

"Lying to your wife?" 

He snorted. "I can't very well tell her I'm talking to a killer."

"What else can't you tell her?"

Will pressed his lips together, angry at himself for opening up that particular line of attack. 

"She talks to a killer every day," Hannibal went on, and then as an afterthought, "I should like to meet her. I think she'd find me charming."

Will didn't bother responding to that, knowing it wasn't the important part of the sentence. Of course Molly would find him charming- assuming she didn't know who he was. Everybody found Hannibal charming. It was infuriating. Or at least, it had been. Back when he was still trying to convince everyone he was the Ripper. Now, it was something close to funny.

"I'm not a killer," he said instead.

"No?"

"Bedelia says I'm capable of righteous violence." Will regretted the words almost as soon as they left his mouth. He hadn't intended to reveal that particular bit of information. Hannibal didn't know he'd gone to see Bedelia. 

"You've spoken to her? Tell me, how is Dr. Du Maurier? In good health, I hope."

"So you can have her for dinner?" He asked in an attempt to distract, suddenly recalling what else Bedelia had told him. Nerves made his spine straighten. 

"I'd hate for my meal to spoil. So why did you go see the good doctor? Commiserating?" 

Will made one more attempt. "Not everything is about you, Hannibal."

"This was."

He hated how self-assured the other sounded. Hated even more that he was right. "I had some questions. About Florence." He scoffed. "You should hear her ridiculous sermons. She goes on and on about how helpless she was against you preying on her innocence. People are eating it up like caviar. Disgusting."

"That was supposed to be you in Florence, Will." 

Will's chest tightened, and he closed his eyes.

"Does it bother you? Knowing she had what was meant to be yours? Do you envy her that? Resent her, for taking what she could not possibly understand in the way you do?" 

"Why do I have to be jealous?" Will bit the inside of his cheek, picturing Hannibal's face. Picturing him sitting in that opulent office of his, in the stylish black arm chair. Picturing him smiling.

"You don't have to be, but you are," Hannibal replied, not a hint of doubt in his voice. 

Will was desperate to change the subject. "Alana told me she took away your things. Do you have them back now?"

Hannibal must have been feeling merciful. "No. Alana enjoys having power over me. I shall be irritated if I find she's destroyed the drawings she took. I had not yet finished my most recent one."

"What was it of?"

"You." Hannibal's eyes softened in that way they only ever had when he was looking at him, and Will blinked hard, twice, to make him disappear.

He cleared his throat. "Do I frequent your drawings?"

"I often draw the people in my life. At times it's you, others Alana, or Chilton, or Jack. Or Bedelia."

Hannibal said her name last deliberately, Will knew, and he still found himself irritated at the thought of Hannibal drawing her. He made manipulation into an art.

Will opened his mouth to reply, but heard Molly call from downstairs. 

"Will, can you pick up Wally from Evan's?" 

Will looked around, for some reason feeling like he'd left his room and only just now returned. 

"I have to go."

"Will."

"Yeah?"

"It was nice to hear your voice."

He hung up before he could say something foolish.

 

 

The next month Will didn't hear from Hannibal at all. Oddly enough, he wasn't concerned. Like it had been something they talked about. However Hannibal was contacting him, doing it too often would have sent up a warning flag to Alana, after all. He didn't bother asking himself why he was waiting for Hannibal to call again.

He told himself if Hannibal threatened Molly and Walter again he'd end whatever it was they were doing. Then ignored the voice that asked why he was doing anything with him, after he'd already tried to kill them once. After he'd gotten him put in jail. After he'd nearly gutted him.

Ignoring it worked, for a time.

 

 

 

The next time Hannibal called he happened to be home alone.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Will."

"Hannibal. How much longer can I expect these calls for?" 

"Don't worry about that. Let us just enjoy them while they last."

Will felt embarrassed, not expecting Hannibal to take his question that way, not realizing that was the way he'd meant it. "I'm not worried."

Hannibal was smiling, he could tell. 

He pictured them in his office, sitting across from one another, chairs drawn close. 

"Are you home alone?"

Will looked over his shoulder. "How'd you know?"

"You said my name immediately. You would not risk that unless you had no reason to think it a risk."

"I see the hospital hasn't done a thing to your powers of observation."

Hannibal leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Did you expect it to? Or hoped it would not?" 

Will shrugged, watching the way Hannibal's eyes burned. "It'd be a shame. You're a killer, but no one would deny you're brilliant. I saw your most recent publication. It's gotta hurt all those stuffed shirts that a murderer in a hospital for the criminally insane has opinions more respected than their own."

"You're speaking of Chilton."

"Among others."

Hannibal looked delighted, the lines around his eyes crinkling. "Will. Flattery will get you everywhere, but I'm afraid I have nothing to offer you as it stands."

Will shifted, half amused, uncomfortable. "I don't want anything."

"Just my company? Or my voice, as it were."

"That'll do."

Hannibal beamed. He launched into the tale of the nurse at the hospital whose ear he'd bitten off, and Will listened with rapt attention, because he'd been curious. And he'd known, he'd just known it hadn't been about Alana. 

"I think Alana has made sure since that only the most boring nurses attend to me."

Will laughed. "She's proved she knows how to punish you."

"Indeed. I still haven't decided how to punish her."

Will raised an eyebrow, but he felt his pulse speed up. "You really think you're getting out of there?"

Hannibal fixed him with an intense stare. "It is an inevitability." 

Will leaned forward, mimicking the doctor's posture. "Why is that?"

Hannibal smiled patiently, like Will had just asked a question he should already know the answer to. "Because, Will. This is not how things end."

Will wet his lips. "How do things end?"

"Together."

Will swallowed. "I know you're not insane, so I guess I just have to call you an optimist."

Hannibal chuckled, and looked towards the large windows his office boasted, currently covered. "You do not seem angry about the fact that I am going to kill Alana."

For some reason this subject made Will more comfortable than the former. "I already knew you wanted to kill her."

"Yes, but how does it make you feel?"

"You're not my psychiatrist anymore," Will reminded him, faintly amused. Hannibal sat back again, crossing his legs. Will watched the hem of his plaid pant leg ride up his ankle.

"You're right. That does not mean that my curiosity regarding your thoughts has faded in the least."

Will smiled. Behind him, the door opened, the dogs running towards the sound. He could hear Molly and Walter in mid argument (something about the new Star Wars movies versus the old), and let out a soft sigh.

"I should go." He waited a second, and was not disappointed.

"Will."

Will found himself amused, that this had happened at the end of all their conversations. "Yeah?" 

"Do you miss me?"

It was the right question. Will swallowed. "Every day." He hung up before Hannibal could respond.

 

 

 

 

 

"Hey, you." 

Will looked up from his book when he heard Molly's voice. She dropped herself gracelessly into his lap, and he chuckled and caught her, the book forgotten at his side. 

She wrapped her arms around his neck, giving him a funny little smile, and he rested a hand on her hip. "Yes?"

"So I was thinking." She leaned forward, kissing his jaw.

"If this is you thinking, you should think more."

"Hush." She pulled back, biting back a grin. "Wally's spending this weekend at Evan's. Maybe we could go somewhere?" 

"Yeah?"

Molly kissed him again, this time on his neck. "Yeah. Someplace quiet."

"Quieter than the house without Wally?"

"Hush." Her lips parted against his throat, teeth grazing the skin there. Will grew warm. "What do you think?"

He shifted her until she was straddling her lap, the leggings she wore making it easy to feel the heat of her skin beneath them. His hands slid up and down her thighs. "I think, as far as ideas go, it's not a bad one."

She laughed against him, sliding closer and moving to align their mouths. They kissed slowly for a few moments, and then her tongue dragged against lip, then tangled with his as he opened for her. 

He could hear her breathing escalate, the hitch in it when his fingers dipped inside the top of her leggings. She rolled her hips against him and he rocked up against her, letting her feel his budding erection.

Molly's hand wandered down his front, and palmed him through his pants. Will realized it had been a little while since he'd felt her touch. He regulated his breathing, warm tingles fogging his mind, his fingers trailing over her hip.

The phone rang.

Will looked over towards the sound, blinking slowly when Molly moved her kisses to his neck again. 

"I should," he rasped, and cleared his throat. Molly's hand slid into his boxers, and he wondered when she'd unbuttoned his jeans.

"You sure?" 

He gasped, thrusting into her touch. The phone rang again, and his hips twitched forward. "I. I'll just see who it is. Wait for me in the bedroom, okay?" 

She pulled back, and he leaned in to give her one last, lingering kiss, flicking his tongue against the roof of her mouth. He stood, and she slid off him, a little weak-kneed. 

"I won't be long," he promised, and she grinned, heading towards the stairs with a bounce in her step. 

Will panted a little, and then hurried to get the phone before it could stop ringing. He cleared his throat. "Hello?"

"Hello, Will."

He must have been really eager, because instead of calming him, Hannibal's voice seemed to make his pulse beat faster. Will leaned against the counter, feeling strange talking to his former psychiatrist while he was hard.

"Is Alana on to you yet?"

"I don't think so. I've perpetuated a rather brilliant lie the Dragon used to speak with me involving my lawyer."

"Your lawyer. Byron something?"

"Metcalfe." Hannibal paused, and Will swallowed, still trying to gain a little clarity. "Are you all right?"

"Huh?"

"You sound out of breath."

Will felt himself warm, embarrassed. "Um. I. Was running."

"Running?" Hannibal sounded amused, and Will sighed, wondering when he'd gotten so bad at lying. "Will. Are you aroused?"

His breath hitched, and Will debated between slapping a hand over his mouth, and hanging up immediately. His erection should have at least been flagging, by now. Instead, at hearing Hannibal talk about arousal, he could feel himself throbbing. He turned to rest his free hand against the counter, staring down at the tile. 

"There is no shame in it, Will. You are a healthy man with a wife who I assume is very conventionally attractive. Did I call at a bad time?" 

Will was too caught off guard. He didn't know how to respond, how to talk to Hannibal about this. "Er."

"Although." Will could hear, just faintly, the sound of Hannibal inhaling, and he closed his eyes. He saw Hannibal standing next to him in the kitchen, saw him lean closer, breathe in his scent. "If that were the case, I am curious as to why you picked up the phone. There can't be many people worth talking to who regularly call on your landline." 

Will swallowed, taking in the sight of Hannibal, the barest hint of curiosity on his face, despite the fact Will could tell from his tone he was all too interested in their conversation. Hannibal's hands were clasped lightly behind his back, and he stood close, but not close enough to touch.

"I knew it was you."

"Oh?" There was something in Hannibal's tone that told Will he should be cautious, but in his addled state, it almost didn't matter. "Your wife is somewhere, then, excited, waiting for you to come pleasure her. Yet you stand here talking to me." 

Hannibal sounded like he knew something Will didn't. Will wanted to know. "I don't. I can only hear from you when you call." He wet his lips, wondering why it was so hard to think. 

"Will, your breathing is getting faster." Hannibal's hands appeared at his sides, and he regarded Will like he were a piece of interesting artwork. Will wanted to know what he was looking for. Instinctively, he pulled the earpiece away from his mouth. 

"Sorry."

"Not at all, I merely wondered if you were aware."

Will turned his head to see Hannibal better, feeling too warm. There was a long pause where Will's skin tingled in anticipation, lips parting as he waited.

"You were so eager to speak to me Will, yet you have very little to say."

Will blinked, finding Hannibal suddenly standing closer. "I'm listening." 

"Is that so? Would you like me to speak to you, Will?"

Every utterance of his name on Hannibal's lips sent an odd little jolt through him, and Will couldn't understand it, knowing only that it wasn't the irritation he'd thought it was before. "Yes," he breathed.

"As you wish. Merely knowing you are on the other end of the line is enough, for me. I hear your breathing and I can see you perfectly in my mind's eye. Can you see me, Will?" 

"Yes." Hannibal's hand was on his face, the sensation so familiar it ached. 

"Good. Do you think of me often like this? While you go about your perfectly normal American life, with your wife and child, do you see me there, when someone is unspeakably rude? Do you imagine me showing you how to best prepare their liver? Do you remember my touch? Do you see me next to you, Will? Do you remember what my smile looks like? My mouth?"

"O-oh, god." Will gasped, gripped the counter tight, and came. 

He didn't quite realize what was happening until it was, and by then it was too late to stop it, a strained noise tumbling from him, a moan, and then he threw a hand over his mouth and dug his fingers into his cheek. Will curled over the counter and shuddered as he throbbed and stained the front of his boxers, toes curling, entire body tense. 

Will was breathing hard when it ended, and he opened his eyes in horror, legs trembling as he felt his cum dripping down them.

"Will?" 

Will froze at the sound of Hannibal's voice, humiliated upon realizing he was still on the line, that Hannibal had- that he'd- he'd gotten off to the sound of _his voice._

"Will, are you all right?"

He couldn't speak, couldn't move.

"Did you climax?" Hannibal sounded bewildered, and the fact that he'd asked such a direct question was only further proof of it. Will could feel his entire face turning red, could feel panic rising in his chest, and he shook his head violently to banish the vision of Hannibal at his side.

He hung up and dropped the phone on the counter, the clacking noise making him flinch. Will remained where he was for several long minutes, before he moved on shaky legs to clean up.

When he went upstairs, the lights were out and Molly was in the bed, asleep. Will stared at her form silhouetted in the moonlight, and felt sick.

Alana was right. He was having an affair with Hannibal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this chapter was really hard to write. I hope I was able to pull it off. P:


	8. Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will comes to a realization.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was longer than I thought, I ended up rewriting a lot of it. Sometimes I feel like I can't possibly to these boys justice, but I hope you all enjoy my attempts. Thank you so much for all the lovely comments!

Will had never had romantic proclivities towards men. 

He was almost one hundred percent sure of that. Which only made what had happened so much more confusing. Will played the conversation in his head over and over again, trying to figure out what Hannibal had done. He hadn't even been touched. 

He hadn't intended for the phone call to go that way. In his head, he'd simply reasoned that while he was able to speak to Hannibal once every one or two months, he saw Molly every day. He just hadn't wanted to miss the opportunity. That was all. 

He hadn't even realized he was attracted to Hannibal. Of course he knew the man was _attractive_ , he wasn't blind, he'd just noticed in an abstract sort of way. 

He felt dirty. 

The next morning he feared the conversation that would happen when Molly woke up. He didn’t sleep that night. When she opened her eyes, she flinched a little, and he realized just how intensely he’d been staring.

“Morning,” she yawned, and his stomach clenched.

“Morning.” His voice sounded hoarse. He cleared his throat. She regarded him carefully for a few moments, and then sat up, stretching.

“Sorry about last night, I must have been more tired than I thought.”

“Uh. Yeah?” Will felt like he was treading on ice that would break at any moment.

“Yeah. You were on the phone a while.” 

There it was, the accusation. He winced, cleared his throat again. “I-”

She laughed, too loud in the quiet. “It’s okay. Make it up to me?” She slid out of bed, into her slippers, and walked towards the bathroom.

“Right. Yes, I’ll.” Will felt impossibly like he’d dodged a bullet. He pushed the part of him that could see storm clouds in the distance down, down, and thought only about how to properly make it up to Molly for being unfaithful. Even if Hannibal hadn’t actually… 

Will shook his head, and refused to remember.

 

It was difficult to look at Molly for the next several days. Even as he tried to throw himself into being the Will Graham she knew, all he could think about was how he wasn't giving her all the attention she deserved. 

Even if it was only once every one or two months, when he was on the phone with Hannibal, he didn't think about Molly, or Walter, not even in passing. Even when Hannibal brought them up, it was only as tools in whatever verbal match they were currently having. All his thoughts, all his focus, was on Hannibal.

He was a bad husband. It was hard to accept, because it had seemed so easy to do the right things, before. He'd complimented Molly often and held her at night and they'd joked and kissed and they'd had something pretty great. 

It had been enough.

 

Baseball season ended, so Will began to take Wally out fishing more. Sometimes Molly came too, and it was nice. 

Wally was a teenager now, and that was odd to think about. He'd started dating Evan. Will wasn't sure how he felt about it, but Molly gushed about how cute they were. He was just so young. 

 

"Wally and I are going out," Will said, holding up the pole in his hand. Wally himself was already starting to carry the bucket for the fish down to the creek. "You coming?"

Molly smiled. "Not this time. Bring home dinner okay? We're out of noodles."

Will snorted. "Roger that."

He followed Wally out the door, and they walked to the stream.

It was just a little chilly outside, but with a jacket on it made for a comfortable temperature. Will looked over to tell the teen something and was surprised to find him already looking back, staring, really. "What?" He asked, amused.

Wally shrugged. "We've been fishing a lot."

"We have," he agreed. "Don't tell me you're getting bored?"

"No." Wally paused, looking down to step over a tree root. "I dunno. It's cool."

He'd have to tell Molly that he'd earned a 'cool'. She'd gotten an 'awesome' last week, but 'cool' was on another level.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. You go places sometimes."

Will blinked. "I what?"

"I dunno, it's what mom says." Wally shrugged. "I like it when you're here." 

Will thought about this while they cast their lines, and waited in companionable silence until they got bites. That was one of the things he liked about doing this with Wally. He was a fairly quiet kid, he could enjoy the quiet of the stream.

Hannibal was tugging at the threads of the relationships he'd spent so many years weaving. If he was being honest, Will knew he was the one tugging.

It was a phone call. He didn't have to answer. He could have just let it ring. Or he could hang up immediately. He could have told Hannibal not to call again, for all the good it would do. He wouldn't, though. 

Will looked at Wally, guilt making his pole feel heavy.

 

 

A month later, the phone rang. No phone call the previous two months had made Will feel restless, anxious. Some part of him wanted to believe that if he could just be a good husband and father, it wouldn't matter if he had a conversation with Hannibal once in a while. He really wanted to believe.

Will picked up the phone and let out a long sigh, glancing over at Molly on the couch. "Hello?"

"Hello! You and your family have won a cruise to the Bahamas!"

Will hung up. He felt embarrassed at how disappointed he was, how roughly he set the phone back on the hook.

"Who was it?" Molly asked idly. 

"Telemarketer."

 

 

He just didn't feel right thinking about his last conversation with Hannibal- for a myriad of reasons. He'd thoroughly humiliated himself, he'd hung up on the man, he'd... there were just things they needed to talk about. 

 

 

 

 

"Did I get any calls today?" Will asked as he stepped inside, slipping out of his shoes and moving to set the bags down on the counter.

Molly's laptop was playing some song that sounded familiar, but Will couldn't place it.

She looked over from her place in front of the TV. "Nope. Expecting one?"

Will considered that. "...Not really." It had been nearly four months since he'd heard from Hannibal. Had Alana figured it out, he wondered? Or was the man waiting for something? Will's heart pounded hard in his chest. Maybe Hannibal was waiting for him to make the next move, in their game.

 

That next morning, he slipped out of bed and picked up the phone, dialing the number for the BSHCI. He hadn't realized he'd had it memorized until his fingers were already pressing the buttons.

"Baltimore State Hospital."

He didn't recognize the voice. "Hello, I'm Byron Metcalfe. Hannibal Lecter's lawyer." The lie felt odd leaving his mouth. He held his breath.

"One moment please."

The line played some classical music he didn't recognize. Will inhaled and exhaled deeply. Would it go to Alana first, he wondered? Would she realize it was him?

The music stopped. 

Will was so tense his shoulders began to ache.

"Hello?"

He let out a breathe, closing his eyes. "Hello."

"Will, what a pleasant surprise."

The smug bastard. Will smiled. Then, recalling when they'd last spoke, he felt his ears burn.

He started to say the man's name, then faltered, finding he didn't know what to say.

"Um. Sorry. For.” He couldn’t say it. Hannibal Lecter had reduced him to a teenager fumbling over intimate words. He turned to something more familiar between them, questions and motivations. “What... what was that? Why did you do that?"

"Me? You've got to start taking some responsibility, Will."

Will pursed his lips. 

"I was surprised, I'll admit. I only suspected you were attracted to me because you stayed on the line. You certainly never gave any indication of such when we were together.

' _When we were together_.' Hannibal made it sound like much more than it was. And yet, the words somehow felt insufficient, at the same time. Will swallowed.

"I didn't know." Will could tell Hannibal was going to say something else, and he knew whatever it was would make him lose his nerve, so he went on. "Don't do that again."

"I didn't do anything."

"You knew what you were doing," Will guessed.

Hannibal didn't say anything for a moment, which confirmed Will's guess as correct. He let out a shaky breath, trying to picture a world in which Hannibal Lecter deliberately tried to arouse him with words alone. And a world in which it was effective. Too effective.

“I only did what you asked me to.”  
  
Will reluctantly allowed his thoughts to return to that night, combing through their conversation (one he was able to remember far to easily, right down to the high and low notes in Hannibal’s voice). _“Would you like me to speak to you, Will?”_

He shuddered, stopping his breathing entirely just in case Hannibal could hear it. “I’m not asking anymore.”

“I’m not offering.” The words were just a touch too quick, almost defensive, and Will wondered what part of this could possibly have Hannibal anywhere near as rattled as he was. "My pencils were returned to me." The change of subject was a little jarring, but Will leaped on it nonetheless.

"Finally get back on Alana's good side?"

"I am not sure she has one anymore, where I am concerned. I think she is still sore that she took me as her lover without knowing what I am."

Alana and Hannibal had been lovers. The thought left a sour taste in his mouth. "I guess we know her type."

Hannibal made an amused noise. "Does your animosity towards Alana stem from her refusal to believe you, all those years ago, her treatment of me, or jealousy?"

"I'm not jealous."

"There is no need to lie, Will. Jealousy is a good color on you."

Will swallowed. "Stop."

"Stop what?"

"Your voice. Stop..." Will realized he wasn't quite sure how to phrase his request.

Hannibal sounded amused. "Stop my voice?" 

"You know what I mean."

"I'm sure I don't." 

Hannibal was telling the truth. Will swallowed again, irritated at himself for noticing certain tones the man took in _that way_ , for associating them with things he should only associate with Molly. 

"Never mind."

"As you wish."

"Will?"

Will looked over. Molly was bathed in light, standing at the top of the staircase. She looked cold.

"It's so early." Molly yawned. "What are you doing?"

Will closed his eyes.

"Do you have to go?"

"Yeah." 

"All right. We'll talk soon."

This time, Hannibal hung up first. Will wondered what that meant. He only ever talked to Hannibal in increments of months. Did that mean he could be expecting a phone call next month?

"Will, come back to bed."

He did.

 

 

The next month, Hannibal called again. Will carefully refrained from picturing the man in his memory palace, not wanting to tempt his overactive imagination. He hadn't had any more thoughts about Hannibal in _that way_ , but it made him nervous, worrying he would. 

"Hello."

"I'm surprised to hear from you so soon."

"Is your wife in the room with you?"

Will didn't answer, but he looked over at Molly. She was laying on the couch with her eyes closed, but he didn't think she was asleep. 

"This call will be brief," Hannibal went on. 

"Why?" Will was disappointed. Their last call had been cut short as well. Embarrassing as it had been, he only had so much time to hear his voice.

"Alana is currently away. Urgent family business that should keep her occupied for the next week, or so. She has Frederick standing in her place, for the time being."

Will didn't move, felt like he couldn't breathe, as he took in this information. For the briefest moment, he saw Hannibal's smile, saw the knowing look on his face.

"I'll see you soon, Will." Hannibal hung up, but Will didn't draw the phone away from his ear for several long seconds. He wanted to think it was presumptuous of Hannibal, to assume he'd come visit him.

He knew he would, though. He wanted to. Frederick was much easier to manipulate. Alana wouldn't have mentioned anything about their conversation. For all her displays of power, she was still just trying to protect him. As far as she knew, he hadn't tried to contact Hannibal since they'd talked.

No, Frederick didn't know.

It would be easy to show up, to request to talk to Hannibal. A man like Chilton wouldn't read deeper than surface level, into his actions. He would probably be spending most of his time taunting Hannibal and trying to get material for another book. He'd probably think Will could help him with this.

So after Will hung up the phone, he went over and sat down on the couch, lifting up Molly's feet and placing them in his lap instead. 

She inhaled deeply, and opened her eyes slow. Maybe she had been asleep after all. 

"Hey," she said, an odd smile on her face.

He swallowed. "Hey."

There was a silence as he considered what to say, and she pulled her feet away, sitting up and drawing her knees to her chest.

"I was thinking about going to Baltimore for the weekend."

Molly didn't say anything for a second. Will looked over, and found her smiling. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Try to, ah. Make some more good memories." 

Molly looked towards the fireplace.

"Maybe Wally and I could come with you."

"I won't do that to you guys, he probably wants to have Evan over, anyway."

"Okay." Molly rested her head on her knees, and took in a deep breath. "Okay. You'll be back Sunday?"

Will nodded.

"Okay." Molly lifted her head, and blinked hard. She smiled, shifting closer to press a kiss to his cheek. "I love you."

Will blinked. "I love you, too."

 

“Will Graham,” Frederick Chilton greeted, perched at Alana’s desk like a king on his throne. Chilton had taken over Alana's office. Will saw several things that were distinctly not Alana's, and wondered exactly how long he thought she would be away. Will thought about how Hannibal was able to smile pleasantly at those he didn’t particularly like, to avoid rudeness. 

“Dr. Chilton.”

“It has been a while. Though- I can’t say I’m surprised to see you.” Chilton turned his head, studying Will with eyes that saw only what they wanted to see. The absurdities in the book ‘Hannibal the Cannibal’ floated to the front of his mind, and Will did manage a smile. “You two were always sort of a packaged deal, yes? Tethered, as it were. Tell me, whatever did you say to make him turn himself in?” 

Chilton rested his elbows on the desk with a greedy expression, and Will slid his hands into his pockets, reminded of what it had been like to have the man picking at his brain. “Why don’t you ask him?”

“He won’t speak to me. The novelty of Hannibal Lecter is waning, but when one lacks a muse it never hurts to return to the classics.” Chilton shifted back in his seat, before standing. If Will looked hard, he could see through the make-up, to the place where the bullet entered his cheek, all those years ago. “I’m thinking about writing another book, about the two of you, actually. I don’t suppose you’d grant me an interview?” 

“Maybe,” Will said, not wanting to sour Chilton’s apparent good mood with an instant refusal. This seemed to be the correct answer, Chilton’s eyes sparkled.

“We will speak more about it later, then. But I’m not the one you came here to see, am I?”

Will just breathed slow, keeping his face blank.

“I know the FBI doesn’t need Lecter for any investigation, so what is it, hmm? Working on your own book, perhaps? Or maybe you’ve found it difficult to find a new therapist who can understand your particular brand of neurosis.” The man had one of those smug little smiles on his face, and Will nearly felt bad for Hannibal, dealing with this while Alana was gone. He shrugged. 

“I have questions to ask, and I can finally do it without being… affected by him.”

Chilton looked like he might whip out a notepad at any moment and start jotting down notes. 

“Fine then, don’t tell me. I’m used to people not being completely honest.” The pretentious man straightened his jacket, then raised something off his desk and handed it to Will. "I want you to take this in." 

"An ipod?" 

"Yes. For recording, obviously. He refuses to talk to me about anything of real relevance, and Dr. _Verger_ won’t let me set up anything in his cell. I think though, that he'll find no problems opening up to you."

Will frowned, but took the tape recorder regardless. 

"Fine."

He slid it into his pocket, but Chilton gave him an impatient look.

"He's not going to willingly let you record him. Turn it on _before_ you go inside."

"I see you haven't lost your penchant for unorthodox therapy."

Chilton didn't even have the decency to look ashamed.

Will only relaxed once he was inside Hannibal's cell, and the doors were closed behind him. 

It was like months of tension suddenly left him all at once as he took in the sight of Hannibal in his bed, a book on his chest. He might have been reading, but right now he was asleep. Hannibal Lecter was taking a nap. It did something to Will, to see him doing something so entirely human. Will hesitated, but took a few steps closer to the barrier separating them, and cleared his throat.

He saw the exact moment Hannibal woke. Saw the rise of the other's chest as he inhaled.

"Will," Hannibal said without opening his eyes, and the smile that curled his lips felt like coming home.

Will let out a small breath. "Hannibal."

Hannibal slid a bookmark into place and sat up, resting the book on his little cot. He stood then, walking towards the barrier, and Will moved instinctively closer.

"So what was the 'family emergency' that made Alana hand over the keys to her kingdom?"

Hannibal's smile turned sharp. "It may have something to do with the mysterious stomach virus plaguing her and Margot's son."

Will stared. "You didn't."

Hannibal waved a dismissive hand. "He'll be fine, of course. But you know how parents worry."

Hannibal had a child poisoned so that they could see each other in person. That should have terrified him, or at the very least made him uncomfortable. Instead, it made his pulse quicken. 

"Mothers tend to worry the most." Hannibal gave him a look, and Will had enough sense to fear what he would say next. "I called you, some time ago now, and your wife answered the phone. She said you were unavailable, but she would tell you I called."

"What?" Will didn't remember that. He would have remembered. 

"I believe your wife is worried, Will. You should be careful. She might think you were having an affair."

"She-" Will paused. Every time Hannibal had called, Molly was under the impression it was for Alana. She wouldn't have questioned anything, if she believed he was dropping anything to answer phone calls from a man, an old acquaintance. But a woman? A woman who he'd left her in bed for, wanting, to talk to on the phone? Will swallowed. "You did that on purpose."

Hannibal tilted his head. "I could do nothing without you, Will."

"What do you have against Molly?"

"The same thing you have against Bedelia."

Will had already known the answer. He'd just wanted to hear Hannibal say it. He looked away, towards the other's cot. 

"What are you reading?" He didn't want to talk about that. He didn't want to feel guilty for coming, didn't want to think about all the reasons why he shouldn't be doing this. He just wanted to enjoy it.

Hannibal, mercifully, allowed this. "Shakespeare. I miss the theater." He moved to rest his hands behind his back. 

"I'm sure you miss a lot."

"Indeed. I miss the unique sounds of the harpsichord. Many hobbies I am unable to pursue any longer. What of your own? Have you taught your son how to tie lures, Will?"

Not so merciful after all. "It's not really his thing."

"That's a shame."

Will shrugged. "How's the food here?"

Hannibal closed his eyes. "There is no food. Calling what they put on those trays 'food' is nearly an insult. My palette languishes from the lack of anything more than frozen meals and cups of lukewarm water.”

Will winced at the disdain in the other's voice. 

"Occasionally, Alana will give me a special meal, for 'good behavior.' After the FBI's investigation, I received steak and wine. She rewards and punishes like I am a dog on a leash." Hannibal licked his lips, and Will's eyes were drawn to his mouth. He wanted to tell Hannibal to _stop_ , but he knew the man wasn't doing anything on purpose. 

"She has been living on borrowed time for a long while. I've been thinking. Perhaps I will open her up, and cook her liver while she watches. Give her a taste.

It was a gruesome, yet elegant idea. Will found himself fascinated by the thought. "How long would you keep her alive? Quite a while, I'd imagine. Make up for lost time."

Hannibal smiled, and Will felt himself returning it.

"You never did tell me, Will. How did you do it? In your battle with the Dragon. Did you use your hands?"

Will thought back to that night. It wasn't hard. It was always ready to be pulled up at a moment's notice, when he felt a longing, when he wanted to see blood on his hands, feel his fist connect with flesh and throw away all urges to hold anything back, ever again.

"Will. What are you thinking about?"

"I did use my hands," Will answered after a moment, fingers twitching. "But first, I used a knife. I... gave him a smile." His hand came to settle over his stomach, almost unconsciously. It still felt odd, when Molly touched it, be it intentionally, or a graze when they were intimate.

"How did that make you feel?"

Will looked at Hannibal, taking in the eager look on the man's face. His eyes were practically glowing. Will felt it too, though. He had always been drawn towards Hannibal, but now the pull felt nearly magnetic. He stepped closer to the barrier. 

"Alive," he admitted. "It was beautiful."

Hannibal stepped closer as well. "I can imagine. Did you consider leaving, beforehand? Did he catch you off guard?"

"No. I knew he was there. I sent Molly and Walter out the house. I waited for him."

Hannibal closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply. Will waited. "The lamb has become a lion. 'For the great day of his wrath is come; and who shall be able to stand?'"

Will watched him, amused. 

"And after experiencing such beauty, you went back to your maddeningly polite life. How much longer do you think you can suppress what you are?"

"As long as I need to." The answer was automatic, but it felt right. Will wished he could be angrier at Hannibal, for continuing to bring up his real life, for bursting the little bubble Will tried to build around their interactions, but it was difficult. He knew what Hannibal wanted from him. He knew Hannibal loved him. 

Hannibal loved him.

Will suddenly felt nervous. 

Hannibal loved him, had asked him to run away together. Hannibal had given him his heart, and he had pushed him away, married Molly. He'd spent three years trying not to think about him. Will had written him letters and read the replies like they were precious gold. He'd sent him cards when it felt like Hannibal had decided to push him away, too. Called him when it had been too long since he'd heard his voice, in any capacity. Was he stringing Hannibal along?

It felt like something so mundane couldn't affect Hannibal Lecter. But he knew it did. It was why Hannibal couldn't stop bringing up his wife and child, and why he pushed so hard about Bedelia. 

Even though Hannibal always liked to play like he had the advantage, Will was holding all the cards. 

Will wet his lips. "Brian Zeller got married."

Hannibal gave him a tired smile. "To Melinda?"

"Er- yeah."

"He finally got the courage to ask her out. Good for him."

Will guessed he shouldn't be that surprised. "How did you know?"

"I always pay very close attention to my colleagues."

"Right..." Will felt bizarrely that he'd hurt Hannibal's feelings. He wasn't supposed to have feelings. "I like my life, Hannibal." The words sounded defensive.

"I'm sure you do." 

It wasn't right, that Hannibal could make him feel guilty for having a life. Or maybe it was, considering he had, essentially, taken Hannibal's from him. At least his freedom.

"I'm sure as well, you are eager to return to it."

Perhaps not eager. But it felt like it would be cruel, to say that. Will could sense the dismissal, and wished he could take back whatever he'd said wrong. He didn't want to leave just yet. He'd only just gotten there. He'd come all this way.

Maybe this was Hannibal's way of taking some of the cards.

Hannibal met his eyes.

"When life becomes maddeningly polite, think about me," he implored. "Think about me. Don't worry about me, Will."

Will felt compelled to give Hannibal something. Before he knew what he was doing his hand was pressed against the barrier separating them. Hannibal watched him.

"You turned yourself in so I would always know where you were. You'd only do that if I rejected you."

Will could feel the understanding pass between them. Hannibal's eyes glistened. It was strange, to think he was really capable of manipulating Hannibal so entirely. He'd given up everything, just so Will would always know where he was.

Hannibal reached his hand out, then, and rested it on the other side of the barrier, lining up their fingers. 

Will's breath hitched on an inhale. He found his other hand moving, almost without his permission, towards the holes in the wall of Hannibal's cage. His index finger rested just inside, eyes remaining fixed on Hannibal's. After a second, he felt warm skin slide against the very tip of the digit.

Hannibal's skin. 

Will felt his eyes start to burn with heat, and had to close them. If seeing him before had felt like breathing again, he didn't know what to compare this to. It was everything. He wanted to reach through, to take Hannibal's hand in his, to hold it, he wanted it desperately, and it was that feeling that made him pull away. He took in a shaky breath, and when he opened his eyes, Hannibal was watching him with a knowing look. Maybe he didn't hold all the cards, after all. 

Will didn't say goodbye. He just turned and left, aware that he was trembling.

In the hall, Will pulled the ipod from his pocket. He pressed stop, and looked at the recording once it popped up. He pressed play.

" _Will._ " 

He smiled, and then pressed delete.

 

"Well?"

Will shrugged. "He figured it out. Wouldn't talk to me until I'd turned it off and set it out of reach."

Chilton's nose wrinkled like he'd just smelled something sour. "Of course."

 

 

The next day Will went home. 

He tried to keep ignoring it. He brought back souvenirs for Molly and Walter because it seemed like something nice to do. He got back late at night, and climbed into bed and kissed Molly's head.

When he woke up, Molly was crying.

"What's wrong?" He asked, still drowsy with sleep.

"What's wrong?" She laughed, sitting cross legged and wiping her eyes. They had bags under them. How long hadn't she been sleeping? She took in a deep breath, resting her hands on her knees. He sat up, but she wouldn't look at him, even when he shifted to try and sit in front of her.

"How long have you been cheating on me?"

Will reeled back like he'd been slapped. For a few seconds he was speechless. "I- I'm not cheating on you." 

"Did it happen when you went to Baltimore? For that wedding? Was Alana there?" 

"Wha- you're the one who told me to go."

Her eyes met his then, a look he'd never seen on her face. A sort of disappointment, underneath sharp anger. There was still a curve to her lips.

"Don't do that, Will. Don't act like it's my fault, like you weren't just waiting for my permission to use it against me."

"I." He had been doing that, he realized. He'd manipulated Molly. He looked away, closing his eyes. "Molly. I'm sorry if I made you think..."

"Am I not enough for you? Is this not enough? Is it about your past?"

How was he supposed to answer? He swallowed, inhaled, exhaled. He prepared to tell the truth. "Molly, you're perfect. You are," he said when she scoffed. "There's no other woman. I don't feel anything for Alana. I'm just... preoccupied with things I've tried and failed to let go."  

She stared at him hard. He didn't shy away. After a long while, too long, where it felt like he could barely breathe, she closed her eyes, and a few more tears fell down her cheeks. 

"I believe you."

Of course she did. It was the truth. 

It hit him like an illness, something he'd been able to feel coming for the longest time, but tried to ignore it until it was too late.

It was horrifying to realize. This _wasn't_ enough. There was nothing wrong with Molly. They had a perfectly normal relationship with normal problems. He loved her. He loved their son. The sex was great. There was _nothing wrong with his life_.

And he still wanted Hannibal. 

He wanted to watch the man move around the kitchen like he was born to be there while he rattled off facts about the meal he was cooking that Will honestly couldn't care less about. He wanted to see that smile Hannibal directed at him when he was proud, the one reserved for when he was feeling smug, the one for when he simply felt affectionate. He wanted to see the little twitch in Hannibal's lip when someone was unspeakably rude, the light in his eye that said 'you are invited to dinner but you won't be sitting at the table'. He wanted to hunt with him. He wanted to see blood drip down Hannibal's cheek. He wanted to eat someone's liver on ridiculously expensive plates with a stupidly extravagant table setting for just the two of them and pretend that he didn't fall for Hannibal just a little bit more with every cannibal pun that fell from the man's lips.

He still loved Molly. He just loved Hannibal _more_.

He loved Hannibal. 


	9. Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will tries to come to terms with his Becoming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy~ I haven't finished the next chapter yet and my mom's coming for the holidays so it might be a bit slower.

Molly was the one to suggest a divorce. Will couldn’t figure out how to say it.

She had her pride. She knew it wasn't the same between them. Five years into their marriage and they were calling it quits.

Hannibal had taken this away from him, too. And this time he hadn't even had to try.

Molly would keep the house, the dogs, Walter, everything. Will knew he didn't have the right to ask for more, and he didn't want to.

He loved Wally, but he couldn't give him the life he needed.

Molly and he got into a shouting match only once, and he considered that an achievement.

He didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to tell Molly. How to explain. He didn't know what to say to Walter. He didn't know when, or why, of all people, why. All he knew was that he loved Hannibal. He felt like he'd loved him for a very long time.

He spent the next few days wandering around the house numb. Molly and he didn't talk. He did his best to stay out of sight.

What kind of person did he have to be, to fall in love with a man like Hannibal? A monster? To know those hands had killed dozens of people, and still want to hold them? Exactly the kind of person Hannibal always knew he was, a voice whispered.

 

 

 

 

By that time next year he was out of the house. It felt surreal. For the first time in half a decade he was alone again. He was afraid to call Hannibal, partly because he wasn’t sure how much longer the lawyer excuse would work, and partly because he wasn't sure what would happen now that one of the barriers between them had dropped. Molly was a much more effective barrier than the one at the BSHCI.

Hannibal didn’t call, either. It felt like someone had cut off one of Will’s limbs. And it said something about him, that he was more upset that he’d lost contact with Hannibal, than over his and Molly’s divorce.

He didn't deserve her, though. And she didn't deserve someone like him. For so many more reasons than she knew.

He went back to Wolf Trap. It felt right. His old house was long gone, but he found another, plenty of money to him between his work for the FBI and a simple life. Mostly, he waited.

What for, he wasn’t sure. Hannibal didn’t know about his divorce, his new address, or phone number. He had no way of telling him. They were truly cut off from one another. He thought about driving to Baltimore, if only to talk to Alana, and let Hannibal know that… well, just that he was there, but he couldn’t work up the nerve.

It almost made him want to make him laugh when he thought about it. Hannibal was the other. Or was Molly the other woman? Either way, he’d pushed and pushed Hannibal, pushed him until he was cornered into a cell, and then let Alana and Jack lock the door and throw away the key.

Hadn’t looked back.

And still Hannibal wanted what they'd almost had. Or wanted to kill him. It was hard to tell, with Hannibal.

Something about it felt inevitable. If Jack hadn’t come, it felt like maybe, he would have gotten curious, or time would dull the hurt enough, and he’d have written a letter. Or maybe Hannibal would send a Christmas card, and he’d be goaded into responding. It would have happened eventually. It was always going to happen.

All he’d done was prolong an eventuality.

Will decided to go to Baltimore.

 

 

“Jack?”

Will squinted in the early morning light, feeling like the man before him might disappear if he rubbed his eyes.

“Will.” He gave an expectant look, and Will stepped aside, dumbfounded. “Nice place,” Jack said out of obligation.

It wasn’t much, but Will didn’t need much. The area was more important. Nice. Secluded. Quiet. Another little cabin, bedroom further back, hidden from the front entrance, in contrast to the kitchen and living room. He didn’t have a TV yet. The couch was from a second hand shop and smelled vaguely like the ocean.

“Thanks.” Will pressed a hand to his cheek, furrowing his brow. “Um. Why are you here?” There were a few panicked seconds, due to still being drowsy and being so thoroughly surprised, where Will wondered if Jack somehow knew about his plans to go to Baltimore, and had come to stop him.

Jack let out a sigh, prowling around his little house like he was searching for something. Will didn’t really feel like playing his games, and went to the kitchen to make himself some coffee. Maybe Jack too, but that depended on what reason the man gave for his arrival. "Five months ago, Hannibal Lecter escaped from the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane."

Will dropped his coffee mug. He flinched when it shattered across the kitchen tile, blinking hard.

"I." Hannibal was free. No longer trapped inside Alana's gilded cage. Restrained to doing tricks for his supper like a trained lion. Realizing the mess at his feet, Will started to gather up the largest pieces of broken glass, looking around for his slippers.

Suddenly the date registered. "Five months?"

Jack nodded.

"I didn't even..." Five months. Will hadn't really kept current, between the divorce and finding a new place and moving and... Maybe he'd been cutting himself off deliberately. Cut off from Hannibal already felt like being cut off from the rest of the world.

Man, he was melodramatic in the mornings.

"You've been out of touch recently," Jack granted. "I take it he hasn't tried to contact you?"

Will tried not to look so terribly disappointed by that. He found a broom, grateful to have something to do with his hands. "No. I didn't even know he was out."

"Hmm. Maybe he's finally decided to leave you alone."

Will swept a little longer with his back turned to Will, fingers tightening around the broom. "Is that what you came for, Jack? To see if I can help you find him?"

"To make sure that you don't."

Behind him, he could hear Jack's heavy footsteps stop just close enough to let him feel the other man's presence. Will wanted to choke him with the broom handle. "I appreciate your concern."

He emptied the dustpan, and when he finally turned to face Jack there was a deep frown on his face.

"I'm sorry about Molly, Will."

"Most people would have led with that." Will found a new mug, just holding it, appreciate the cool ceramic against his hands. He looked into it, eyes tracing the circle of the cups bottom.

"I won't take up to much of your time."

'Liar,' Will thought, petulant.

"With Hannibal Lecter free, you are the FBI's priority, Will. We'll be putting protection detail on you to keep you safe. He hasn't come yet, but that doesn't mean he won't."

Keep him safe. The words were obligatory, but Will understood what they meant. The FBI would be watching him. Waiting to see what Hannibal would do. What Will would. "Just curious. Why didn't you come to me when he first escaped?" Will knew the reason. They'd been observing. Hoping for a chance to catch Hannibal, hoping to use him as bait.

Jack folded his arms across his chest. "We were following a few leads that made us think he'd left the country."

"You don't anymore?"

"We don't know."

There was something like satisfaction in that. Will was ashamed for it immediately afterwards, knowing Hannibal free meant more bloodshed, but instead of worrying him, of paining him, the thought was exciting.

Who would be first to suffer his wrath? A dark voice in the back of his mind questioned. Alana's face appeared in his thoughts, then Bedelia. Objectively, they didn't deserve to die. It wasn't Hannibal's place to decide if they did. He knew that.

But some part of him wanted them to suffer.

If you play, you pay.

Some part of him wanted Jack to suffer, too. He couldn't do anything about it, but that part of him wondered if it might draw Hannibal out. If it would please him. And wasn't that screwed up?

His eyes flicked up briefly to Jack's face, and then lowered. "I'm guessing this 'protection detail' is non-negotiable?"

"You guess correctly."

After half a conversation more out of obligation than want, Jack left, and Will stared at the door for a long time.

"Where are you?" He asked the silence. "I'm supposed to know exactly where you are. Where are you?"

Five months. Hannibal was free. He knew that really, it was only a matter of time.

Will smiled. Maybe he'd still go to Baltimore, after all.

 

Will watched Bedelia fill her glass with a pinched look on her face, a far cry from how relaxed she'd been the last time he was in her office. Now she was practically prowling, shoulders hunched, head turning like she was constantly seeing something in her peripheral vision.

"The only reason I have not left the country," Bedelia said, closing her eyes. "Is because the FBI insists I remain. Just in case." In case he comes, the unspoken truth rang between them. "However they think they're going to manipulate this situation to their advantage, I wish they'd think again."

Will considered that. Jack was playing a dangerous game, but then he always was. Hannibal wouldn't let himself get caught in Jack's web, of that Will was sure. "There is no advantage. It's all degrees of disadvantage."

"Who holds the Devil, let him hold him well," Bedelia quoted. "He will hardly be caught a second time." She paused, looking at him. "But then, that's not what you want, is it? Why don't you leave? Is it because of the FBI, or because you are waiting?"

Perceptive as always. Will shifted in his seat, watching her. It was strange to see her so discomfited. Oddly comforting.

Bedelia looked at him in disgust. "Can't live with him, can't live without him."

"Is that what this is?"

Bedelia leaned against the wall, taking a long drink from her glass. She inhaled deeply. "What will you do when he comes?"

Not if, when. He liked that, like it was an inevitability. He hoped it was. Somewhere, he knew it. "You and Hannibal have that in common. Always asking questions you already know the answer to."

She regarded him sharply, lips quivering in barely held restraint.

"I guess this is my Becoming."

"What you are 'becoming' is pathological. You've just found religion. Nothing more dangerous than that."

Will stood up and straightened his coat. "First chance you get, I'd pack my bags if I were you, Bedelia. Meat's back on the menu."

Her grip on the glass tightened. "You righteous, reckless, twitchy little man. He might as well cut all of our throats and be done with it."

"Ready or not. Here he comes."

He left Bedelia Du Maurier's office with a sense of deep satisfaction. Like he'd accomplished something significant.

Suddenly, Will realized why he'd come. Bedelia had already been afraid, but he wanted her cowering. He wanted her desperate. He wanted her to know, when Hannibal came for her, he'd be there, too. Will shuddered as the thoughts settled in his mind, pressing a hand to his face, and then looking around, as if the people near him could hear what he was thinking. Could see through him.

Only one person ever could, though.

Will wondered what it would be like, to let himself fully surrender to Hannibal. He told himself he'd try to stop Hannibal from killing again, but he wasn't sure if he would. He told himself that Hannibal would kill anyway, that he would just sit passive and observe, like Bedelia, but he wasn't sure he could.

Delighting in it, wanting to feel knuckles bruised by bone and blood against his face, was much different from tolerating it. He'd told Hannibal he tolerated.

You play, you pay.

No. He didn't think he'd stop Hannibal. He didn't want to. Some beasts shouldn't be caged.

 

 

“I looked up Alana Bloom.” Molly inhaled, folding her arms across her chest. Her hair was pulled over her shoulders, straighter than he remembered. “Couldn’t help myself.”

It was almost odd to see her, after all this time. They'd agreed though, that he shouldn't just disappear from Wally's life. He didn't want to. He wanted to be there for him as long as possible. Or at least until the waiting ended.

It was terrible of him. He didn't have any concrete plan, no decisions made save for dreams that made him gasp awake and half imagined fantasies in the back of his mind that he kept locked up tightly during the day. He didn't know if Hannibal would be the catalyst that set off the ticking time bomb that was his mind or if something else would, but he felt so tightly coiled. Too tight.

It was his selfishness that kept him visiting Wally.

“Oh?”

“Oh.” She looked up, a smile twitching onto her lips. “I was kind of surprised to find she was actually Alana Verger. Married to Margot Verger. With a son.” She paused, and Will wondered where she was headed with this. “It really wasn’t her, was it?”

“No.”

“But it was someone.”

Will looked away. “Yeah.” Molly didn’t deserve to be lied to. “But, I never… we never had a physical relationship.” That much he could say. It didn’t make what happened better, or easier, but he wanted her to know that.

Molly laughed, just a little. “But you did have a relationship, right?”

Will shifted, wetting his lips. "In a... manner of speaking."

"God Will, what does that mean."

He opened his mouth to explain, but what did he say? How could he define what it was between he and Hannibal in a way Molly would understand? Or accept?

She sighed. "Never mind. If you didn't tell me before, you aren't going to tell me now." He couldn't really blame her, for the bitter note in her voice.

"I'm sorry."

"Are you?"

He inhaled. "Yes. Yes. I'm sorry I... I'm sorry I couldn't survive separation. I thought I could. I thought I wanted to. I do love you, Molly. It was as real as it could be between us."

She still didn't understand, but he didn't know how to say it any better. He saw her wipe the palm of her hand across her eye, but pretended he didn't.

Molly let out a deep breath. "Thanks for coming to see Wally, today. He's really missed you."

"I missed him."

Will straightened, sensing an ending.

"Oh, Will."

He turned to look at her, but she was moving around the dining room table, to a bookshelf pressed against the wall. She grabbed an envelope from the top.

"This came for you a while back. With everything going on it slipped my mind."

Will blinked, taking the envelope and staring at the way his name curved and looped across the stark white paper.

Mr. Will Graham.

"Looks fancy," she noted, trying to lighten the mood.

"Thanks," Will said before he his voice left him.

 

  
Inside the envelope was a postcard of somewhere in Cuba. Nothing was written save for the 'Wish you were here' typed across the gorgeous landscape. Will's smile lasted the entire day.


	10. Acceptance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will's ready to admit what he wants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JUST FOR YOU GUYS MERRY CHRISTMAS

Will woke up to the feeling of being watched. Fear filled him for a moment, the hairs on the back of his neck rising, but something about this felt familiar. When he turned his head, he found himself looking down the barrel of a shotgun. 

He took a moment to be appropriately shocked, and then settled, no longer afraid.

“Hello, Chiyoh.”

It was still dark, but he could see the soft lines of her face highlighted in the moonlight. 

“Hello, Will.” 

The gun didn’t waver, but Will didn’t look back at it, keeping his eyes fixed on her face. “You’re not going to shoot me.”

She was like a marble statue, gorgeous, firm. Unwavering. Like some inhuman thing visiting him in the dark of the night. Finally, she breathed, and the illusion was shattered. She shifted back, and sat by a chair that hadn’t been at his bedside when he went to sleep.

“No. Not tonight.”

Good old Chiyoh. She tilted her head, watching him with impossibly dark eyes, and he sat up, resting his back against the headboard. 

“I still don’t understand what he sees in you.”

Will swallowed. “Did he send you?”

“In a way.” She turned her head towards the window, but he wasn't fooled into assuming she was any less alert. Her finger was probably still on the trigger. “He stayed in that place for much too long. He is weak. Some beasts shouldn’t be caged.”

Will blinked hard, knowing it was impossible for her to read his thoughts, but feeling violated all the same. 

“Have you learned any other means of influence, yet?”

“I think I’m starting to.”

“He doesn’t think clearly, about you. Hannibal is a romantic, but I’m not. You will be his end.”

“And he’ll be mine.”

Chiyoh looked over again, and then held out her hand. “I will not stand in the way of an unstoppable force and an immovable object. But do not presume this to be my blessing.”

Chiyoh’s _blessing._ What did that mean? Will felt bizarrely like the hero of some Victorian romance, Hannibal cast as the lady he was attempting to woo and Chiyoh as his father. The imagery was impossible not to snort at. 

He took what she offered in her hand, looking down. In the dark, it was just a small scrap of paper. When he looked up again, Chiyoh  was on her way out, her measured steps across the floor the only indication she was still in the house. 

Will waited until she was gone, and then turned on the bedside lamp, looking at the paper again.

It was a phone number.

 

 

 

Will was hard pressed not to dial that very night. He knew it wouldn’t be smart, though. Not with the FBI watching so closely. Waiting for the smallest hint. Not when Jack could come back at any moment, with accusations, demanding answers Will didn’t have. 

So he started slow.

He rarely went out these days, but he started to. Sometimes it was just to go and eat somewhere, something other than fish. Sometimes he went to the movies and paid too much for popcorn and joined the normal masses. Sometimes he went to an art museum and tried to see the paintings through someone else’s eyes. 

He’d been restless lately, despite the confirmation he’d been waiting for that Hannibal was safe. He knew what he was waiting for, but it was still hard to say out loud. So he made it all go away. Laid his head back and waded in to the quiet of the stream. The time for waiting was over, though.

One day, after he was sure it wouldn’t be odd for him to be going into town, Will bought one of those pay as you go phones, along with some cheap whiskey and a box of graham crackers.

When he got home and locked the door behind him, he nearly collapsed, heart pounding in his chest. The number was on his nightstand, waiting, as it had been since the night Chiyoh came. 

Will swallowed. He forced himself to start dinner (a little early, but he needed something to do with his hands), and pour himself a glass of the whiskey. 

He sat on the couch for ten minutes, got up and took a shower, then sat back down on the couch, this time in pajamas. 

Finally, when he had nothing else to do and no more reasons to be patient, he dialed. 

“Hello?”

Will inhaled sharply, fingers tightening around the phone. Hannibal’s voice. It had been too long. Will opened his mouth, but nothing would come out. He leaned forwards, resting one elbow on his knee. 

“Is everything all right?”

“Hannibal.” The word escaped in a near gasp, and Will cursed himself for not taking more time to prepare. How could he, though? There was a pause, long enough that Will worried Hannibal had hung up, or maybe didn’t recognize his voice. 

“Will. You must have spoken to Chiyoh.”

Will leaned back against the couch, then forwards again, and finally stood and moved over to his bed, laying down. “How did you know?”

“She’s the only other person with this number. Is it safe to assume the FBI doesn't know about this phone?” 

“Yes.”

Hannibal was quiet again. Will was desperate for him to continue speaking. Dimly, he wondered if maybe Hannibal wasn’t just as overwhelmed as he felt. Will closed his eyes, feeling the walls come up around him.

The Norman chapel in Palermo. Hannibal stood by the alter, wearing a dark suit, plaid, paisley tie. He hadn’t allowed himself this luxury (and when had imagining Hannibal become a luxury?) in so long, he found it hard to picture the look on Hannibal’s face. His voice was unreadable. 

Then, Will heard the slight inhale, and he pressed the phone harder against his ear, waiting.

“Will. Even as you go through the motions of your pretend life you—”

Oh. _Oh._ “I don’t need to anymore,” he blurted, and then, reminding himself that even with the shared rooms in their memory palaces, Hannibal wasn’t a mind reader, tried to be more specific. “Molly and I got a divorce.”

Hannibal was quiet again, though not as long this time. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t lie.” Will could see Hannibal’s face now, surprised, even as he tried to hide it. Watching Will with calculating eyes, waiting for his next move. “Things… weren’t the same between us.”

“Even though you wanted them to be?”

All the revelations he’d come to since he’d last seen Hannibal suddenly seemed like grand, impossible things. Certainly too large to ever leave his lips, certainly too difficult to ever tell Hannibal. Will felt himself blushing like a teenage girl.

“Will?” Hannibal prompted, just a touch of impatience leaking through that oh so careful control.

“I. I went to see Bedelia again.”

“Oh?”

“The FBI thinks you’ll come for her eventually. They’re watching.”

“They’re watching you too, I imagine.”

“They can’t for much longer. Sooner or later Jack will have to admit you got away, and the department will have to spend their resources elsewhere.”

“Indeed.” Hannibal was flustered. Will wet his lips, too flustered himself to enjoy it.

“Were you injured? When you broke out.”

“Will.” Just like that, Hannibal’s composure was regained. He had that knowing look in his eyes, posture straight, regal even, and the candles around him seemed to burn brighter. “If I’d known you would miss me so much I would have made an effort to contact you sooner.”

He was a grown man, this conversation shouldn’t be so difficult. Hannibal was a serial killing cannibal, and he was scared of admitting he’d missed him, of all things. 

A laugh aborted halfway tumbled from his mouth. “I. I moved out of Molly’s house. I didn’t get your postcard until a few weeks ago. I thought—” Will stopped himself from finishing that sentence. The damage had already been done, though. 

Hannibal watched him with soft eyes, the corners of his lips raised in a smile that was so familiar it hurt to look at. “Precious boy,” Hannibal praised, and Will ran a hand over his face. “I already told you how things end.”

 _Together_. It was too much. Will shook his head, inhaling shakily. “Ah, how’s Cuba?” 

Hannibal was still watching him, and Will was hard pressed not to look away, reminding himself it was all in his head. 

“It has much better weather than the inside of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane.” 

Will snorted, but paused when he heard an odd tapping noise. He stumbled out of the Norman chapel, opening his eyes to see his cabin. Nothing out of the ordinary caught his eye. “What are you doing?”

“Preparing dinner.”

Of course. Will settled back down into his bed, staring up at the ceiling. “What are you making?”

“Ropa Vieja,” Hannibal said, “Skirt steak in tomato sauce with fresh vegetables and white rice. A Cuban dish, as it were.” 

An impossible fondness filled Will. “Sounds delicious.”

“It will be.” The tapping sound returned, and Will listened, conjuring a memory of Hannibal’s kitchen. “Have you missed my cooking, Will?”

“Of all the things I didn’t think I would miss, that is one of them, yes.”

“You subsisted on a diet of fish and whiskey, of course your palette would protest upon returning to it.” Hannibal sounded amused. 

Will tried not to smile. “What makes you think Molly couldn’t cook?”

“Could she?”

“No,” Will admitted. “She was pretty terrible.”

Hannibal chuckled.

Thinking of Molly, Will’s smile faded. “I really didn’t pick her because of you. I did love her.”

For a moment, only the faint sounds of Hannibal moving around the kitchen could be heard. The moment lasted longer than it should have, and Will sat up, frowning.

“Hannibal, leave them alone.”

Hannibal was quiet for a beat longer. “If I didn’t, what would you do? If I sent someone after them? If I did it myself? Crushed your imitation wife beneath my fingers and found a wine to pair with her flesh? Would you join me for dinner, Will?”

Will closed his eyes, exhaling. It should have been a reminder of who the man he’d been so desperate to talk to was, should have been like being doused with cold water. But he knew who Hannibal was. And he wasn’t surprised. The threat was empty, though. That Hannibal had made it at all proved that much. He just wanted to see what Will would say. What Will would do. He knew Hannibal didn’t really want to kill Molly, not in the way he did Alana or Bedelia. Especially now that she was out of the picture. 

“No, Hannibal.” 

The sound of something opening. “My compassion for you is inconvenient, Will.”

“If you're partial to beef products, it is inconvenient to be compassionate toward a cow.”

A small noise of amusement came through the phone, but it was halfhearted. “What will you do now? Go out and find another ready made family? A wife that can cook this time, perhaps. A daughter to replace the one you made me take from you. Save yourself from the darkness that begs to break free with your every breath.”

Here it was, then. The place where his admission was supposed to go. A space in the conversation carved neatly by Hannibal, even if the man didn’t know he was doing it. 

Will took his time responding. “I don’t know if I can save myself. Maybe that’s just fine.”

All sounds at the other end of the line stopped. Will couldn’t even hear Hannibal breathing, anymore. He pulled the phone back and put it on speaker phone, staring down at the screen.

There was a mild sense of horror, filling up the pit of his stomach. He should have waited to call until he was ready. He wasn’t. Not to imply such things. Not for Hannibal to _know_. Know that he’d been waiting. Was waiting.

Finally, a noise. Will couldn’t quite place it.

“I have to go, Will.” 

Will blinked. That was it? 

“Hannibal,” he said, without really knowing what he wanted to ask.

“Yes?”

“I… are you hanging up because dinner’s ready?” he realized.

“It’s rude to talk on the phone at the dinner table.”

Unbelievable. “Do you have guests?”

“That’s not the point, Will.”

Will wanted to be angry, but when he put his hand over a mouth, there was a smile. A feeling he’d only just recently recognized made him warm, and Will closed his eyes. Maybe Hannibal wasn’t ready, either.

“Okay. Hannibal?”

“Will?” Will could hear that same feeling echoed in Hannibal’s tone.

“Can I… I mean, will you be…”

“I am always happy to hear from a friend, Will. Goodbye.”

God, he loved him.

 

 

 

Will found the dog driving back home from a trip into town. Nostalgia and a heady sense of de ja vu filled him. She was a beautiful mutt, about the size of a border collie, but filthy, and watched him with a sort of wary caution for the better part of an hour before he managed to coax her into the car. No collar. 

The house felt a lot warmer with another body inside.

He gave her a bath and kept her on the indoor porch until she grew used to all the attention. She ate with a fervor that was absent from nearly everything else she did.

The first time Will let her wander freely inside the house, she moved with a quiet grace, head high and eyes studying everything with intensity. Will was instantly charmed.

“You remind me of someone,” he sighed. She tilted her head inquisitively. “I wonder how hard you’ll be to train. Impossible, I bet.”

He started taking her to a nearby dog park, since he didn’t have any other dogs for her to socialize with. Absurdly, every time he left the house now, he found his eyes searching for a dark, Japanese beauty, but he knew Chiyoh was long gone. Maybe with Hannibal, by now. 

“Your dog is beautiful.”

Will looked away from said dog, blinking up at the woman who’d spoken. She was pretty, short, blond hair that curled charmingly around her ears. There was a toy poodle cradled in her arms, content.

“Thanks. Yours too.”

She smiled fondly down at the dog, and then sat next to Will on the bench he’d been occupying. He scooted over to make room. 

“This little guy,” she said, exasperated. “I bring him here for exercise but all he does is whine until I pick him up. I swear he thinks he’s a little person.”

Will’s lips twitched. “I know the feeling.”

She petted her dog for a moment, and then looked over, but Will didn’t return the look. He could tell she was curious, about what he couldn’t fathom, but he wasn’t surprised when the questions started. 

“So, what’s your name? I’ve never seen you around here, before. Do you live in the area?”

“Will. Kind of, it’s a bit of a drive.”

“We come here often,” she said, scratching her dog’s head. “I’m Lucy.” 

Will had the faintest moment where he wondered why they were still talking, and then it hit him, in the way she scooted closer, ducking her head shyly. 

“I used to be a cat person, until my sister dumped this lump on me.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I’ve had a couple cats. My last one, Spock, he died last year. Then when my sister moved her new place didn’t take dogs and so…” She trailed off, shrugging.

“Hmm.” He inhaled, making an effort not to be rude. “Sorry about your cat. You seem fond of…?”

“Chekov,” she said.

“Was there ever a Scottie in the mix?”

Lucy laughed. “No, though there was Kirk, and Uhura…”

“I haven’t met a Trekkie in a while.”

“Guilty.” She smiled, her cheeks looking a bit pink. “Um, do you like Star Trek?”

“I’ve never really seen it. Don’t watch much TV.”

“Oh,” she said, sounding disappointed. “What do you do?”

“Fish, mostly.”

“Oh, my dad used to love fishing.”

The conversation went on as the dogs played, until Will decided it was time to leave. When he stood, Lucy did as well.

“Hey um, there’s this coffee shop within walking distance that’s dog friendly,” she said, a hopeful note in her voice. 

Will had sort of been expecting it, but he still found himself a little surprised. He exhaled through his nose, staring at the ground. “Uh—”

“Oh god, you’re taken aren’t you?”

“What?” Will looked up at her, wondering why she’d come to that conclusion.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” She was startlingly red.

“…You didn’t. But, uh… I’m…” Will laughed, embarrassed. “I am.”

“Sorry, sorry.” 

“It’s fine.”

They parted ways, both looking horribly awkward.

“Precious boy,” Hannibal said in his ear.

 

 

 

“Still no leads.” 

Jack looked worn out. Will almost felt bad for the man. He folded his arms across his chest, leaning back in his chair. Jack had brought take out— a peace offering, Will imagined. An attempt to rekindle the friendship they’d once had. Will allowed it, but not because he desired Jack’s friendship. Better to know what the FBI had planned. 

He doubted Jack really trusted him, either.

“I don’t know what you want me to tell you, Jack. Hannibal wouldn’t go back to Italy, not after how he was found before.”

Jack gave him a wary look. “You know him better than anyone. Bedelia still won’t speak to us. You’re sure you don’t have _any_ idea where he might be?”

Will stared down at his food, like he was contemplating. Jack was obsessed with Hannibal, Will knew he wouldn’t be satisfied until the man had been caught again. After having him for so long Jack’s pride wouldn’t accept that he’d just slipped away. Will inhaled, closing his eyes.

“There was something,” he said slowly.

“Something?”

“Something he mentioned, back before… when we were still trying to catch him.” His eyes flicked towards Jack just briefly, and he ducked his head. The man was watching with rapt attention.

Will suddenly felt the pleasure Hannibal must have, getting away with so many blatant cannibalism puns when everyone else was none the wiser. 

“Look how he hangs on every word you speak,” Hannibal's voice whispered. “You could play Jack Crawford like a fiddle. Like he used to play you.”

“What was it, Will?” Jack asked when he took a little too long to respond.

“Something about a castle, in Luxembourg city. You know Hannibal, he was always going on about Europe. But there was a certain way he talked about it…” Will sighed, shaking his head. “I don’t know. It’s probably nothing.”

“You found him at the Norman chapel,” Jack said, something like eagerness in his tone. “We’ll look into it.”

Will shrugged, and hid a smile in his drink.

 

 

 

“I had dinner with Jack Crawford today.”

Hannibal hummed, and Will found himself chuckling.

“Before you ask, yes, we were talking about you.”

“I’m flattered to be such a hot topic of conversation.”

“I’m sure.” 

Will could hear the faint sound of water running on Hannibal’s end, wondering how long it would take him to wash the dishes. When he cooked for just himself, were the meals just as elaborate? Table setting and all?

Will snorted. Of course they were. He wondered if Hannibal had a dishwasher, but still preferred washing by hand any way. In his mind’s eye he saw Hannibal standing at the sink, the muscles in his shoulders working as he carefully cleaned his glass.

“What does it look like?” Will asked, suddenly needing to know.

“What does what look like?”

“The place where you’re staying. The kitchen. What does it look like?”

“There is a room in the house where the previous owners have let the foliage start growing up the walls, which are an atrocious teal color that has started appearing in my dreams.”

Will choked on a laugh.

“The kitchen is barely large enough to work in properly, and the stove works only sixty-five percent of the time. There are ridiculous portraits of dogs wearing clothing.”

As Hannibal spoke, Will created the space in his mind, imagining the man there at the sink, making his complaints with a dry look on his face as he set another dish in the sink.

“I’m surprised you’ve lasted as long as you have.”

“I’m looking into other accommodations.”

Will bit back a smile. “Hot water?”

“On a good day.”

“And on a bad day?”

“I imagine I am participating in the Japanese practice of _Misogi_ , ritual purification done by standing underneath a frigid waterfall.”

Will laughed, and heard the sink turn off. “What about the bedroom?”

“Is that a room you need in your memory palace, Will?”

Will went quiet, embarrassment creeping up the back of his neck. “I was just asking.”

“Oh?” Smug bastard. There was a brief pause, where Will could hear Hannibal moving about, and wondered where he was going. “The walls in the bedroom are off-white, which I am grateful for, as the rest of the decor would not be able to handle one more color. There are curtains along the wall, behind the beds, as if the decorators thought that a classy alternative to wallpaper. They are a faded yellow, with pink and red flowers taking up large swatches of cloth.”

Will closed his eyes and continued building.

 

 

 

The only reason Will didn’t call Hannibal every day was because he didn’t need it going to the arrogant ass’s head. He told himself it was because he had a life, having returned to fixing boat engines to keep a steady income, going out occasionally, mostly to buy necessities, taking his new furry companion on walks.

But that was really the only reason.

 

 

“I have a new dog,” Will said one day when he realized it hadn’t come up. They never had a lack of things to say to one another. Mostly Will called after he was sure Hannibal would be done with dinner, but sometimes he would call early in the morning, wondering what Hannibal did with all his time. Whatever it was, he always seemed to pick up. 

Today, he imagined them in Hannibal’s apparently atrocious sitting room, resting across from each other on mauve, floral print chairs. The warm Cuban breeze filtering through from an open window. 

Hannibal gave him a look. “I hope you won’t think it rude of me that I had already assumed as much.”

Will was admittedly surprised how long it had taken him. He was tired though, of losing dogs. He missed the one’s he’d had with Molly. “She’s a prim little thing. I’ve never heard her bark. I swear she thinks she’s a person.” Will looked down at her fondly, and the dog, sensing the attention, lifted her head, ears twitching inquisitively. 

Will imagined Hannibal giving him a disapproving look for having her in the chair, but allowing it, considering the quality of the furniture. 

“Sounds like my kind of dog. What is her name?”

Will bit back a smile, and then felt embarrassed. No point in deflecting, it was only a name. “Encephalitis.”

There was a moment of approximately two heartbeats before Hannibal started laughing. Not the soft chuckle that he sometimes gave to endear others to him, seem more human, but a full laugh that seemed to drop from his lips without control. Will could see tears gathering in the corners of his eyes.

“What’s wrong with it,” Will tried, but he barely finished the sentence before he was laughing too. 

It should have been wrong, that he felt warm and comfortable, like he was sharing a joke with an old friend, instead of talking about a dangerous illness that could have killed him, that Hannibal had aggravated. It wasn’t wrong, though. It was more right than anything he’d had in a long time. 

He wasn’t sure when it had happened, perhaps somewhere between deciding to send the FBI on a wild goose chase and the sound of his name on Hannibal’s tongue whenever he picked up the phone, but there it was.

Will was done dwelling on what things should be. He was ready to accept what they were.


	11. Wanting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will struggles to come to terms with his desires.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually ended up finishing this yesterday. But from now on! Really! No update tomorrow (probably)  
> I feel like this story has moved out of angst and into nearly rom com territory. Can I just say that I would love a Hannibal rom com? 
> 
> will: tell me you didn’t kill that man hannibal  
> hannibal: I didn’t. I just cut off his arms.  
> will: hannibaaaal
> 
> also I was kind of embarrassed to post this just click post and don't look back!

Hannibal was sitting in a chair next to his bed, sleeves rolled up strong forearms and legs crossed, casual. Will was lying down, faintly disoriented— he was warm. No, hot. Maybe that was why he wasn’t wearing any clothes.

“Take yourself in hand,” Hannibal said, and the warm timbre of his voice so close, rather than through a phone, sent a chill up Will’s spine. He found himself obeying without really realizing what Hannibal meant, fingers trailing down his chest, past the scar, hyper sensitive, until they could wrap around his cock.

He was so hard.

Will let out a groan, starting to stroke.

“No, not yet.”

Will stopped. He forced his eyes open, looking over at Hannibal. Were it not for the barely there smile on his lips, he would look totally unaffected. The room was too dark for Will to make out whether or not Hannibal was aroused, too. His mouth filled with saliva at the thought, and he swallowed, closing his eyes again.

“Savor this moment. Feel how magnificent you are.”

Will snorted, but still shuddered when he dragged his fingers over his length, taking in the girth, the texture, the small bead of fluid that leaked from the slit.

“Take your palm and rub it over the head. Like that, yes. Feel the restrained need, hovering just under the surface. The prelude to what is to come.”

Will grit his teeth, feet shifting restlessly against his sheets. It wasn’t enough. “Hannibal.”

Hannibal shushed him.

“You may stroke yourself now. Slowly. Slower. Good.”

Will inhaled, eyes fluttering open as he dragged his hand down, then up again.

“Again.”

Will did, and then his hand hovered near the tip, legs trembling, waiting for further instruction.

“Beautiful, obedient boy.”

“Hannibal,” Will panted.

“Keep stroking, Will. Twist your wrist over the head. Squeeze the shaft, gently.”

Will was distinctly aware that he was receiving as much, if not more pleasure from Hannibal’s voice, steady and controlled, as he was from his hand. The hand that Hannibal was directing, restraining, elevating each action into art as only Hannibal could.

“Move your hand down to the base, and keep it there. I want you to imagine me between your knees.”

“Oh, god.”

“Can you feel my breath on you, Will?”

He could. Will was hard pressed not to let himself start stroking again, fingers twitching restlessly around the base of his cock.

“Imagine me tasting you.”

Will’s breath hitched, picturing that fantasy mouth sliding down around his arousal, taking him deep—

“No, just a taste. I should like to taste you, Will. I would love to devour every part of you. Maybe I will, one day.”

Will strained, hips bucking up. “Please Hannibal.”

“What do you want, Will? I can’t help if I don’t know what you want.”

Will swallowed, and broke, unable to help himself, loosing a loud groan as he started stroking again. “Y-your mouth, please Hannibal, I need—”

His wrist was suddenly pinned to the sheets, and Will gasped, opening his eyes to see Hannibal hovering over him, the warmth of his palm against Will’s wrist practically obscene. Will’s hips bucked, lips parted, and he watched Hannibal’s eyes darken.

He wanted to touch more of him, wanted to press their bodies together, feel the heat he knew simmered under those pristine clothes.

“You are undisciplined, Will.” Hannibal’s voice was rough in a way Will had never heard, and his cock ached for even the hold of his fingers against the base again. “Is my voice not enough for you you?”

“N-no, it’s not enough, I need— I- I-”

  
Will gasped, jerking out of sleep. He blinked, startled at how similar the setting was to his dream, the only change the sudden daylight. And the lack of Hannibal.

Hannibal.

Will trembled, gaining a little clarity as he woke up more. He ran his hand over his face, trying to make sense of his dream, half remembered fragments already fading. Hannibal, sitting next to his bedside, legs crossed, casual as you please. Hannibal, praising him. Hannibal, hovering over him, the only point of contact his palm on his wrist.

He was still hard. Will stood up and moved to the bathroom, intent on ignoring it and taking a shower. He wasn't quite ready to think about what touching himself to thoughts of that dream would mean.

Will took a deep breath in. He hadn’t thought about Hannibal that way since The Phone Call That Must Not Be Named. At least, he’d made a sincere effort not to. He certainly didn’t remember dreaming about it. About Hannibal.

The phone rang, and Will’s eyes snapped towards his night stand, horrified.

It took him a second to realize that the phone ringing was his normal one, and he relaxed, but only a shade. Ignoring it for the time being, he continued his journey to the bathroom, nearly tripping over Encephalitis in the process.  
  
It was a question he didn’t want to think about. If Hannibal, when Hannibal came for him, what would their relationship be? Hannibal still called them friends, but they both knew they were more than that. Extensions of each other. But that didn’t necessarily mean they were… as Freddie Lounds would say, ‘Murder Husbands’.

Before, Hannibal had initiated the contact between them. A hand on his shoulder, casual fix of the collar. He thought back to the feeling of Hannibal’s hand on his cheek, a tender caress, a farewell. Holding him, stroking his hair, when the pain from Chiyoh’s bullet had been too much. Carefully tucking him into bed, after what happened at the Verger estate. Even in the BSHCI, Will hadn’t really initiated that small bit of contact between them. He’d just let it happen.

Hannibal was in love with him, and frankly he was irritated that it had taken a conversation with Bedelia for him to realize, because it was so entirely obvious, whenever he looked back. Hannibal was in love with him, but did that mean he was attracted to him physically, too?

The Phone Call That Must Not Be Named was a vote towards yes.

Will leaned over the sink, keeping his eyes turned away from his reflection. Hannibal really wouldn’t stop until he owned every part of him body and soul. Although, he reasoned, Hannibal had offered a rare gift in return.

 

 

“Hello?”

Oh, god.

Will’s mouth went dry, and he pulled the phone away from his mouth to stare down at it. What would Hannibal say, if he knew?

“Hello?”

“Hello,” he said, before Hannibal hung up. “Hello.”

“Will, how are you this evening?”

“I’m… normal.” His brain didn’t seem to be functioning properly. He hoped it wasn’t Encephalitis again. He looked over at the dog, a terrible mix between amused and too awkward to have a conversation. Perhaps he should have waited until tomorrow to call Hannibal, when the dream was out of his head.

He reached absentmindedly into the bag of chips at his side, crossing his ankles.

What if he had another one tonight, though? Something worse? He wasn’t sure what something worse would entail. Maybe Hannibal actually listening to his pleas and stretching that mouth around—

“Nonsense.”

“Huh?” Will blinked, and then cringed. Clearly he wanted to embarrass himself in front of Hannibal.

“You are always extraordinary.”

Will snorted. “That was terribly cheesy.”

“Next time I will not add so much cheese.”

Hannibal sounded like he was in a good mood. “Did you finally move into your ‘other accommodations’?”

“Indeed. I am making a special meal in celebration.”

Will made a half hearted groaning noise. “Does that mean you’re going to kick me off the phone to eat in solitude once it’s done?”

“We talk nearly every day, Will,” Hannibal said, obviously amused. “Is that not enough for you?”

The tone was different, but suddenly Will could feel a searing warmth on his wrist, and his breath hitched. Yes, he definitely should have waited. “Er. No, it’s just ridiculous that you can’t talk on the phone and eat at the same time.” Remembering he had his own little meal, Will popped the chips into his mouth.

“Will.”

“Hmm?”

“Will. It sounds like you’re eating cool ranch doritos.”

Will didn’t know why, but hearing Hannibal say ‘cool ranch doritos’ tickled something, and he nearly choked when he started to laugh. After calming, and swallowing, he cleared his throat. “Don’t tell me you can smell them over the phone.”

“They are certainly odorous enough, but no, I merely recall seeing a bag in your pantry once. Will. Is that your dinner?”

“I had a burger earlier.”

“A burger?”

“From McDonalds.”

“ _Will_.” Hannibal sounded so scandalized Will had to laugh again. “Tomorrow you will cook yourself a proper meal.”

Will raised an eyebrow. “Is that an order?”

“Yes.”

He hated himself for the way that made his stomach warm.

“You know it is in your best interest to take care of your body, Will. You never know when you might need to engage in strenuous physical activity. What will you do when that time comes if your body is not up to the task?”

“One cheeseburger’s not going to kill me, Hannibal.”

“It starts at one. Tell me you didn’t have french fries as well.”

“Hmm.”

“ _Will_.”

There was a sound, then, a voice that wasn’t Hannibal’s. Will frowned. “Who was that?”

“Give me a moment.” For a long time, there were vague noises that Will couldn’t make any sense of. “Can you hear me?”

“Am I on speakerphone?”

“Yes. I need use of both of my hands.”

“Who was that?”

“Dinner.”

Will went still. “Hannibal. What are you doing?”

“What do you think I’m doing?”

Will could hear a faint whine, and then a gurgle. Will’s throat worked convulsively, body leaning forward in his seat. “Who are they?”

“Aleja Reyes. The previous owner of my new accommodations. She killed her husband for his fortune, now that the police have come sniffing around she’s sold her properties and fled the country.”

Will could hear Hannibal working. He could imagine a scalpel in the other’s hand, wondered if he would be displaying her, like he was wont to. But no, Hannibal was still laying low, he wouldn’t risk that. God, why was that the first thing his mind went to? The risk of Hannibal's safety, rather than the fact that he was taking a life. Murdering someone as Will sat there.

“Did she really kill her husband?”

“Yes. He was a rather resilient old man, and she was eager to inherit, I imagine.”

“What will you take from her?”

“The lungs. Perhaps the heart as well. It will likely be some time before I hunt again.” A sharp cracking noise. Will’s pulse jumped. Instead of calling him back, Hannibal had answered the phone while he was in the middle of removing someone’s organs. They’d had a conversation about cheeseburgers while some woman lay dying on Hannibal’s operating table.

“Stay with me, Will.”

Will let out a shuddering breath. “I’m here.” Where else would he go?

Will fell back against the couch, and slowly, deliberately, let his eyes fall closed.

Hannibal, hovering over a woman who was quickly losing consciousness. Cracking open her ribs to get to the meat underneath. Severing the lungs from the rest of her body. Delicately pulling them free. Will made himself watch.

“Oh the dishes I would cook for you, were you here.” Hannibal sounded wistful. “You would forget the meaning of fast food.”

Hannibal was intoxicating to look at. Will had only ever seen him in such situations a few times- his strong hand holding the blood in Abigail Hobbs’ neck, sure touch keeping the victim of Devon Silvestri alive. He could imagine it though. All too well.

Will blinked hard, knowing he was shaking. “I. I’ve never had lungs before. Doesn’t actually sound too appetizing.”

“I know your palate, Will. It would be delicious,” Hannibal promised.

“I’m having a little trouble processing the fact that you were carrying on a conversation with me while you were… busy.”

“And yet, here you are, still carrying on that same conversation.” Hannibal suddenly looked up, and Will stilled under the force of that gaze. His stomach churned.

“Tell- tell me what you’re doing.”

“I am removing the lungs her chest cavity. Hmm. I was worried about this.”

“What?”

“Her husband was a smoker.” Hannibal made a disappointed sound. “These lungs are atrocious.”

Will huffed a laugh. “What about her heart?”

Hannibal found the organ, freeing it from it’s place and inspecting it like a jeweler would a diamond. “Yes, it will do.” He hummed. “I have to go now, Will.” There was a snap, as Hannibal removed a glove. “I wish you could join me for dinner.”

Will felt dizzy. He stood, smoothing a hand over his face, stumbling to his bed. Hannibal hung up before he could respond. Will let the phone drop from his hand, shuddering as he curled in on himself.


	12. Needing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will understands a hard truth about himself, and an interlude.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I really thought I lost the plot for this, but all of a sudden bam, there it was. I thought about combining this with the next chapter, but... it works better on it's own I think. 
> 
> Also I have no idea how this happened, this chapter was supposed to come after Christmas

Will dreamed of stalking a woman to her home, drugging her, and laying her out on his table. He dreamed of taking a scalpel and making a fine incision down her chest, listening to her whimpers and feeling not a hint of remorse, or guilt. Feeling nothing. Except disappointment, when he cracked open her ribs and found them inedible. He dreamed of taking her heart, and not even noticing when she breathed her last breath.

A death of convenience. She would get no design. She would be dismembered and hidden away where no one would find her. No one would look.

Will dreamed of deft hands, laying him down. Reaching into his chest and taking firm hold of his heart. Squeezing. In his dream, he reached out to those hands, those arms, not to push them away, but to draw them closer, draw them deeper. Blood leaked from his mouth and a warm tongue licked it away like it was the finest wine.

Will woke, chest heaving. He looked down at his hands, finding them trembling. He’d thought about _wanting_ , he’d admitted to himself that the idea of seeing Hannibal Lecter covered in blood wasn’t an unappealing one. That he could do more than tolerate wickedness.

It was different though, to witness it happening, to be aware, and to realize it was true. 

Not just a thought.

A reality.

His reality.

What to anyone else would be a nightmare had left Will’s adrenaline racing for entirely different reasons, had him pressing a hand over his chest to hold the phantom sensations there a moment longer. He couldn’t breathe.

Underneath the shame, the disgust, stronger still was an acute sense of longing. 

He looked at his phone on the nightstand, then at the clock, and winced.

“Will?” 

Will blinked. He hadn’t even realized he’d dialed. He pressed the phone to his ear, sliding back down in the bed. 

“Will, are you in danger?”

“No.”

“Does the FBI know about our phone calls?”

“No.”

“Are you dying, Will?”

“No.”

“Then why are you calling me at four o’clock in the morning?”

Will laughed without air, his breathing slowly returning to normal. Hannibal sounded tired, ruffled. Human. “Sorry. I didn’t really plan to. I just sort of…”

There was a sound like fabric ruffling, and Will imagined Hannibal laying down, resting his head on his pillow. Imagined his eyes closing. “There is no need to apologize, Will. I’m always happy to hear from you. Although you did wake me from a rather lovely dream.”

What did the devil himself dream about, Will wondered. “About what?”

“As the light fades with the sun, so do our dreams upon waking.”

“So you can’t remember?”

“No, but I’m certain it was lovely.” Hannibal yawned. It was adorable. “What did you see in your dreams, Will?”

Will bit back a smile, clearing his throat. “What makes you think I didn’t forget?” 

Hannibal hummed. “If you are calling at this hour, I can only assume it is because you were woken from a nightmare. Or a dream.” Hannibal yawned again. “Insomnia perhaps. Or maybe some deeper medical issue. Have you been sleeping well? Did you have the doctor’s you visit.” As the man spoke, his voice trailed off into quiet mumbles, and Will had to press the phone closer to his ear.

“That last question didn’t really make sense.”

“You know what I meant, Will.”

Will chuckled, letting out a soft sigh. He listened to Hannibal’s even breathing for a second, the smile fading from his lips. “I dreamt about you,” he admitted. “Again. I dream about you a lot. I… this time, you were holding my heart in your hands. It was…” Will paused upon hearing a sound from the other line, and he pulled the phone away from his ear to look at it for a moment. “Hannibal? …Did you fall asleep?”

The same light snores answered him, and Will rubbed a hand over his face, smiling into his palm.

He pressed the button for speaker phone, resting the cell on his pillow with a sigh. 

It was easy to slip back into sleep.

 

 

Weeks dragged by. Will began to call Hannibal every day because he couldn’t remember why he wasn’t. Sometimes they spoke for only a few minutes before Hannibal had to go take care of something in his new, still fragile life, or Will had the rare errand to run. Sometimes they talked for hours, Will would flop down on his bed and before he realized it would be dark and Hannibal would dismiss himself for a shower. Sometimes, they would talk before they went to sleep, and Will was able to witness a drowsy Hannibal Lecter spouting nonsense just before he nodded off. 

“Have you ever tasted tiger, Will? It’s the stripes that hold the most flavor.”

“Will, what is your favorite kind of cookie? I made chocolate chips today. Chocolate comes from the Aztec word ‘xocoatl’, the Aztec pyramids might have been, did you know Will, might have been…”

“Four cups of flour, Will, four. Very four.”

Occasionally he’d start speaking a language that definitely wasn’t English, and it was all Will could do to nod and hum along to keep him talking. He was pretty sure Hannibal didn’t know about this new favorite past time of his, and he kind of wanted to keep it that way, lest he start insisting they hang up sooner.

 

 

The phone rang for longer than usual.

“Hello?” 

Will blinked, and then stared down at the phone.

“Hello?” He said, confused. 

“Are you calling for Aldrich?”

“Uh.”

“Your phone rang, cowboy.”

Will blinked hard, frowning, and after a slight scuffling sound another voice came. “Will?”

“Hannibal. What- who was that?” It had sounded like a man. His voice didn’t sound familiar. Another one of Hannibal's disciples? Someone like Chiyoh? The man had called him _Aldrich_ , though.

“I’m having a guest for dinner.”

“ _For_ dinner?”

He could hear Hannibal moving about. “He’s a vegetarian. I’m terribly sorry Will, might I call you back? I’d hate to be rude.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Hannibal hung up, and Will could do little but stare down at the phone’s tiny screen for several long minutes. He hadn’t given much thought to what Hannibal's life was like, down in Cuba. He could picture him moving about his home, cooking, composing (he’d had a harpsichord imported not long ago), picture him brushing his teeth and showering and sleeping, but once he stepped outside of the home Will had done his best to recreate in his memory palace, what did he do?

It was Hannibal. He could lay low for only so long. While he may not have compulsions to kill, Will was fairly certain that he was compelled to show off his oh so carefully cultivated skills. How often did he have people for dinner? Not to _eat_ , but to _serve_ them, to explain the history of the dish they were eating, to spend all that time preparing and pairing a wine, a table setting, plating in an intricate design that was so uniquely Hannibal. 

Will found himself inexplicably annoyed. He’d called Hannibal _cowboy_. If there was a more unfitting nickname, Will couldn’t think of one. Not that he’d ever tried giving Hannibal a nickname. If he did it would be better though.

Something like… whatever. It would be clever.

Another thought hit him. What if Hannibal found someone like Alana? Someone to… keep up appearances. Ensure he always had an alibi. He was fairly sure Hannibal had slept with Bedelia, clearly the man had needs. After spending three years locked up…

Will grit his teeth, stomping towards the door to take Encephalitis for a walk.

Hannibal didn’t call back that night, or the next day. Will forced himself to wait, wanting to see if he would.

 

 

Eventually, he caved. 

“Will, how are you this morning?”

Will decided to lead with “You said you’d call back.” It was a far cry from the meandering paths their conversations normally took, and he could tell Hannibal had been caught off guard. 

“The other night, you mean? I apologize. I found myself occupied until quite late and did not want to wake you.”

“Why don’t you ever call me?” Will realized. All of their phone conversations had been initiated entirely by him. Hannibal had never protested, but he did have his number. It was strange that he wouldn’t make use of it.

“Does that bother you?”

Will grunted, irritated at having his question answered with another question. “It. I don’t know. It didn’t. Why?”

“Perhaps by waiting for you to dial I can ensure the time is always convenient for you.”

“That’s true, but it’s not the reason.”

“No,” Hannibal conceded. Will wondered what the point was evading this particular topic. On the other end of the line Hannibal was quiet before Will heard the slightest sigh.

“I always enjoy our conversations, Will. Even with our shared rooms you are the one person my memory palace cannot quite do justice. Our sudden ability of unrestrained contact by phone has me at a bit of a loss, I’ll admit. I had planned on waiting until I was able to see you in person again. Better to indulge sparingly.”

For all Hannibal’s flowery words, Will could hear the meaning immediately. Hannibal missed him, and the phone wasn’t enough. He’d rather distract himself with fancy dinner parties than dwell on how long it might be before they could safely risk seeing each other in person. 

Will sat on the couch slowly, wondering if there was any point in denying how the sentiment made him want to swoon. Hannibal Lecter really was turning him into a teenage girl. 

But it was okay. Hannibal was the Chesapeake Ripper, the man who defied all catagorization, who killed without compulsion, without compassion, and feasted on the organs of his victims not because he _needed_ to, but simply because it was what he felt like doing. He could be a blank slate, hiding everything in the ultimate poker face due to true lack of feeling, while at the same time offering friendly smiles and (terrible) jokes to the people who thought themselves friends and colleagues. Will didn't think he'd ever get used to hearing that person, who some called the devil himself, speak of such tenderness. He'd turned Hannibal into a teenage girl too. 

Will aimed for nonchalance when he spoke, but his throat felt a little dry. "And if I said I wanted you to overindulge?"

There was the smallest hitch in Hannibal's breathing, and Will felt his pulse jump.

"I would not deny you."

Will wanted to ask what else Hannibal wouldn't deny him, but wasn't sure the tone would come out the way he intended. So instead he just conjured that small hitch of breath to play again for him, knowing he'd be doing so again before the night was over. It was so rare for Hannibal to lose that much of his careful control.

What would Hannibal look like with it lost completely, he wondered? Hair mussed, lips kiss swollen and parted, begging- and wasn't that an idea, Hannibal Lecter, _begging-_

Will dragged himself out of his thoughts with a grunt, irritated that he couldn't seem to stay focused.

"Who was that before? The guy who called you 'cowboy'." He snorted. "What was up with that, anyway?"

"I told him I lived in America for some time and he took a liking to the moniker."

"You can't tell me you have, too," Will pushed, wanting to hear the other's opinion.

"Will." Hannibal paused. "I am many things, but none of them are, nor ever will be, a cowboy."

Will laughed.

"It is a necessary evil. He owns a very lovely vineyard."

"Never thought I'd see the day you'd sell your soul for wine."

"Not my soul," Hannibal said, sounding amused.

"Your dignity then."

There was a very deliberate silence, and Will knew he'd done something wrong. 

"Do you find Avery a threat, Will?"

"A _threat_?" Encephalitis meandered closer, and Will pretended the reason he didn't have an answer was because he was too busy scratching behind her ears. "What do you mean by that?"

"How much longer are we to play these games?"

Will restlessly undid a button at his collar, feeling warm. He stood, only to pace two steps and sit again. "I, er. Just... didn't know you were having dinner guests."

It wasn't an admittance, but it wasn't a denial, either. That was all he could offer, when he was so underprepared. Conversations he knew they'd have eventually but put out of his mind whenever he wasn't actively talking to Hannibal.

"Occasionally someone will join me at my table, yes. I must find some way to pass the time."

"I guess, yeah. Um. How goes composing?"

"I find inspiration around every corner. I have been out of Baltimore for many months, but colors still seem sharper, brighter. I can only imagine how much definition they will gain still, once I am able to take care of unfinished business."

Unfinished business. Will ran his tongue over his lower lip, finding a patch of chapped skin and wincing. "Hannibal I have a... request."

"Anything, Will."

A shudder ran down Will's spine, muscles in his legs tensing. His (recently) oh so easily-distractable thoughts taking the words straight to the gutter. He struggled to pull them out. "I- I don't want you to... have Bedelia for dinner." He closed his eyes. "Not yet."

Hannibal was silent, considering his words, Will imagined. "Is there something in particular you want me to wait for?"

"Yes. Me." The last word left his mouth, and Will's lips remained parted, body frozen, needing Hannibal's response before it could thaw.

When Hannibal spoke, his voice was low in a way Will could only remember hearing a few times. So subtle, someone else might not notice, an involuntary injection of feeling on Hannibal's part. "It would be rude of me not to extend an invitation."

It made goosebumps stand up on Will's skin, made his imagination run wild with what would happen upon their next meeting. 

When he could see Hannibal again in the flesh, could see those intelligent eyes hooded, cheekbones that could probably serve as a murder weapon, that mouth. That... 

A coil of heat curled in Will's stomach, dropping lower as Hannibal continued to derail his train of thought without even trying. He swallowed thickly. 

"When do you..." He could scarcely bear to ask. "When do you think you'll...?"

"I have to be careful. Bedelia going missing will send up alarms if my timing is not perfect."

Will nodded, rubbing a hand over his face. "Right... of course..."

"I don't think the FBI have quite given up. Although they certainly don't know where I am. I heard they were searching in Luxembourg."

Will laughed, biting his lip and leaning forward to rest his elbow on his knee. That deep twinge of longing sprung up in his chest again, and Will inhaled shakily, irritated at himself for the way his eyes started to burn. "I just- fuck, Hannibal, I want to see you."

He hadn't really intended to make the confession, and he flinched when the last word tumbled from his lips, cringing. "I- I..."

"Darling boy," Hannibal said, voice soft in a way that would have made Jack Crawford gag. Will's ears burned, clenching the muscles in his stomach to exterminate the damn butterflies. "No need to be so vulgar."

Will laughed. And laughed, and laughed, and fell a little bit more in love. 


	13. Relief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will loses control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is sort of short, but what I'm envisioning happening next seemed like it needed to be broken up. Just a heads up, this story is winding down. Probably only a few more chapters. Thank you for reading thus far!

"How will you do it?"

He and Hannibal sat this time in his own home, next to each other on the sofa that smelled of the sea. The image he had of Hannibal in his head was strong here, and he clung to it, studying the other's face as they spoke.

"Similar to how I dined with Abel Gideon. I will take her leg first. Roast it. Perhaps baked in banana leaves. She will be delicious. I have waited a long time to partake. She will be a delicacy, Will."

Will rolled his lips between his teeth, trying to convince himself Hannibal calling Bedelia _delicious_ wasn't something to be jealous over. "You can make anything delicious."

"Flatterer."

Will's lips twitched.

"While we were in Florence, Bedelia abstained from much of my cooking. She never partook of my meat."

Will couldn't help himself, he snorted, feeling entirely childish. 

"Will?"

"Sorry, just... the way you said..." Oh, hell. 

Hannibal's lip curled in distaste. "Don't be crude."

Will chuckled, but his mind had already latched on to the idea. He'd assumed, of course, but assuming wasn't the same as knowing. He cleared his throat. "Did she, though? I mean, were you two." He made a vague gesture, feeling even more like a kid.

"Yes."

The direct answer made Will wince.

"Does it bother you that we were intimate?"

Will inhaled deeply, keeping his eyes on Hannibal's face. "Yes." The honesty made the air between them feel warm. Will leaned into the couch, suppressing a shudder. "Yes. Tell me about it."

"She was always the aggressor. I think she was afraid to relinquish control to me."

Will let out a huff of laughter. "I would have thought you'd be the one with problems 'relinquishing control'."

"Do you often think about how I'd be in the bedroom, Will?"

Will lost the ability to breathe for a few seconds, falling into Hannibal's gaze. He didn't know how to respond. Honesty had seemed to work before. "Y-yes."

Hannibal stared at him, eyes unreadable. His tongue came out to drag across his lower lip. "Do you imagine me in control?"

Will mirrored the action, wetting his lips as well. "Sometimes."

"And others?”

“I imagine you… at my mercy.” Will trembled, gauging Hannibal’s reaction, watching the man blink slow, nostril’s flare with a breath. 

“You want to take control from me,” Hannibal mused, but Will shook his head.

‘No, I… want you to surrender.”

Hannibal’s eyes widened faintly, and Will told himself to stop, _stop,_ but images were already racing through his brain, overactive imagination high on picturing Hannibal _right there_. 

“I imagine…” He swallowed, feeling his cock stirring, warmth making the muscles in his stomach clench. “I imagine you on your knees. Y-your mouth.” Will closed his eyes for a second, a shudder running through him, before they flew open, staring intently at Hannibal’s lips. “That _mouth_ , I can’t think about it without… nh- wanting…”

Hannibal was still watching him silently, and Will paused, a slave to his own desires, desperately wanting to know if the man he was talking to felt the same. He was so hard to read. Will noticed then, the heavy sound of Hannibal’s breathing. He swallowed. “Would you?” He wasn't even sure what he was asking, but he needed to hear Hannibal speak.

“I would open every part of me to use as you please.”

“Shit.” Will’s hand moved to palm the front of his pants, mouth hanging open as he inhaled shakily. The man was between his knees then, staring up with eyes dark with arousal, and Will fumbled to unbutton his jeans. “Shit, Hannibal. I can- I can see you between my legs, still in one of those _ridiculous_ suits. You- your hair hanging over your forehead. You unzip- nnh- unzip my pants, and I’m already _so hard_.”

“ _Will_.” Hannibal’s voice sounded strained, and Will’s hips twitched forward, the want in the other’s tone making his own need climb higher. “Do I tease?”

Will bit his lip. “Of course you do… I- I hold the base, and your hands hold my hips. You lower your head… I can feel your breath against me.” He shuddered, freeing his dick to the open air, sweat dripping down his temple. “Your tongue, y-your… tongue _oh god_ licks at the head, and then again, and I’m- it’s so soon but I’m leaking, because I’ve wanted- wanted this so long, _nnh_.”

Will dragged his palm over the head of his cock, a groan falling into the air, closing his eyes to better imagine Hannibal’s head working between his thighs, legs tense, body wound tight with arousal.

“You taste exquisite,” Hannibal breathed, and Will’s pulse hammered into overdrive. 

“You take the head into your mouth… just the head, even though I want you to swallow it all, you s-suck…” Will’s hand jerked into motion, unable to take it any longer, running up and down his length with long but ultimately unsatisfying strokes. “You suck, and your tongue drags so slow, not enough, Hannibal _please_.”

Will heard a faint, shaky moan on the other side of the line, and nearly burst at the thought of Hannibal just as lost as he was. 

“Finally you, you bob your head down… down… fuck, your mouth was made for this, sometimes I- I jerk myself to memories of you eating, just watching your lips stretch around the bites.”

Hannibal’s breath stuttered.

Will’s head fell back, a desperate noise pooling at the base of his throat. His fingers slid down to fondle his balls, body so warm, too warm, he wanted to undress but he couldn’t bring himself to stop for even a moment. “You go slow, and I bury my fingers in your hair, I- ngh- I pull, and you… you surrender. You let me fuck your mouth, and I’m throbbing from the idea alone, you- you moan, you want more, want me to fill you, and I want to see-” Will had to stop for a second to breathe, pulsing so hard he ached. “I want to see my cum dripping from your lips… I imagine… you swallow because _of course you do,_ you’re desperate to devour any part of me, but there’s s-so much, you couldn’t possibly take it all- _fuck_.”

“Will, I have… dreamed of this moment, I-” Hannibal grunted. “I- a-ah… nnh- _ahn_!”

Will’s eyes blew wide, his hand doubling its pace on his aching cock at the sounds Hannibal made, the sound of his heavy breathing afterwards, the soft whisper of his name. Will came explosively, with a shout, hips jerking up into his fist and mouth hanging open as he painted his shirt with cum. 

He gasped, stroking himself through it, teeth digging into his lip. Stars burst behind his eyes, length throbbing and releasing more, more, until he could barely breathe, heels digging into the floor.

When his orgasm ended, Will collapsed against the couch, panting hard, limbs feeling like little more than jelly arranged in the shape of arms and legs. 

His eyes fluttered open, and he stared up at the ceiling for a few seconds, before stiffening. “Oh god,” he whispered, shooting up, hand flying away from his softening dick. 

It took him a moment to realize he’d dropped the phone. It lay half between the cushion and the arm of the couch, and a sinking feeling set in while he stared at the cheap piece of plastic, afraid of what he would find waiting for him.

He’d- shit, he’d just… completely lost control. He’d… had they just had… phone sex? He’d come harder than he had in a very long time, and Hannibal hadn’t even touched him. Just hearing him on the other end of the line had been enough, knowing he was listening, knowing he was…

Hannibal’s moan played itself back in his ear, and Will’s cock made a valiant effort to twitch up again. “Oh, god.”

Terrified by the thought of even beginning to figure out what to say after that, Will picked up the phone and hung up without putting it to his ear. 

Something like guilt filled him, but he stood to try and avoid it settling, needing to shower.

He’d been more than a little frustrated. After talking on the phone with Hannibal for hours, it was only logical his dreams would be filled with the man too. They weren’t always sexual, but when they were… he always woke up feeling woefully unsatisfied. 

Will bit his lip, staring down at the mess he’d made. He’d come so hard… realizing something, Will froze in place, eyes widening.

Had Hannibal… had Hannibal come, too? It’d sounded like he had. Will groaned, already hot and bothered, resigning himself to more dreams about the man.

What would he say to him when he called back? Would Hannibal be angry that he’d hung up? Again? He hadn’t really thought that through. He hadn’t thought any of it through.

Will took his time showering, and once he’d finished brushed out his hair and brushed his teeth, even though he didn’t really plan on sleeping anytime soon. Then he let Encephalitis out, a little disappointed by how quickly she did her business. 

He had dinner, leftovers from yesterdays fish fry, and then decided that he might as well tidy up his room while he was at it. And the living room, just to be safe. Hadn’t cleaned his toilet in a while, might as well do that.

Before long he ran out of excuses.

He picked up the phone again, sweating as he pressed re-dial. 

“Will, two phone calls in one day, what a rare treat.” Hannibal sounded composed. 

Will thought he could hear though, underneath the polite facade, a pinch of irritation. He ran a hand through his hair, moving over to his bed and sitting down with a sigh. “I didn’t mean for that to happen. I’m… I think we should talk.”

“Is that what you think?”

“Don’t be an ass, Hannibal,” Will snapped.

“How should I be then, Will? You are a man who lives and breathes contradiction. You yank me as close as you dare and then push me away when it becomes too much for you. For how long will you deny yourself? Deny me? Your ex-wife and son sit somewhere far away, we speak to each other on a level most would think excessive, you have listened while I took a life, yet you still play coy.”

“I.” Will struggled to respond. He knew Hannibal was right. There was very little point in pretending. There was very little point, yet he still found himself fearing the consequences. What would happen when he gave himself over completely? “I’m sorry, I just…” How did he explain when he didn’t even understand it himself?

“Will. I will not push you towards this, you must find your way yourself. But I would ask you, as you once did me, don’t lie to me.” 

Will closed his eyes, and then nodded. “Yes. Yes, okay.”

“Good.”

Will let out a long sigh, laying on his back. He frowned, and then his lips twitched up, subtly at first, then into a full smile. He chuckled, but it soon boiled into full blown laughter.

“Will?”

“I just- why is- why is it easier to accept you _killing and eating people_ , than it is to- to- admit I want to fuck you?” It was suddenly hilarious. There was something seriously wrong with him. Considering the man he was in love with was a murdering cannibal though, maybe that was okay. Will laughed helplessly, and he could hear the faint amusement in Hannibal’s tone when he spoke.

“Was that a rhetorical question?”

“I don’t need you psycho-analyzing that particular facet of me, no.”

“As you wish. Tell me Will. Did you ever think of me when you were with Molly?”

Will exhaled slowly as he came down from the high, keeping his eyes closed. “No. I mean… not until the end.” He paused, considering. “Did you ever… think of me when you were with Bedelia?”

“Yes.”

Will shuddered. He wanted to ask more, but didn’t think he was ready to open that can of cannibal gummy worms again just yet.

He switched the topic to something lighter, and by the time they hung up he was almost feeling normal again.

It was hard to forget though, that just a few hours earlier he was describing to Hannibal just how he wanted the man to suck his cock. The back of Will’s neck heated as he moved to brush his teeth, trying not to think about the way Hannibal had played into his fantasy, the way his breathing had gone shaky. It didn’t work very well, but he tried.

It should have been laughable, imagining Hannibal, the epitome of propriety, doing something as base as _phone sex_ but instead it just made Will feel warm.

He went to bed continuing to not think about it.

 

That night, in his dreams, Molly’s soft, warm body turned into hard, hot lines, plush lips turned pouty. Old memories warped into wished, and Will woke in a state of drowsy disorientation, reaching for someone who wasn’t there.


	14. Despair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will finds himself waiting longer than expected for Hannibal's next call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! I had a wonderful little holiday with my mother. There will be just one more chapter after this, and I should be able to upload it tomorrow assuming I can get myself to power through it. I was going to just continue this chapter, but I think 15 is a nice number.
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has followed this story, and left such wonderful comments. They made me feel so warm and were what compelled me to keep writing. I love Hannigram, so if anyone has any plot ideas they'd like to see made into a story feel free to throw them at me.
> 
> Also, I'm sorry.

"Sometimes I think about bringing someone home. There are plenty of candidates. Plenty of people the world wouldn't miss. I think about knocking them out, and driving them out to where I live in the middle of nowhere. Or luring them there with promises of dinner, like you might. I'd use my hands. Knives are too... messy, guns too impersonal. I... I like doing it that way, feeling their flesh bend and break beneath my knuckles. I like feeling the blood filling in the negative space between my fingers. I think I would cut them open, when it was done. Not as tidily or surgically as you could, but... I want to take out something. The liver, maybe. Throw it in a pan. Just once, just to... just to see what it's like."

"If you provide the ingredients, I will happily tell you what to do with them, Will."

Will let out a long breath, free hand opening and curling into a fist as restlessness slithered through his body and made him want to get up and move. It felt cathartic to talk to Hannibal about this. To speak to the only person who would understand. Part of it, he thought, might be that he missed those conversations they used to have in Hannibal's office. Always dancing around the topic, speaking in long winded metaphor.

"I would," Will said, and then swallowed, mind dipping briefly into his favorite fantasy as of late.

"You will," Hannibal corrected, and Will's lips twitched, not quite managing to muster a smile.

How many months had he subsisted on nothing but phone calls and dreams? Fleeting moments in shared rooms of their memory palaces?  "How much longer will you wait?" Will asked, and Hannibal went quiet for a moment. It was a topic they didn't really broach often, and Will hated himself for his impatience.

It was impossible to help though. Hannibal's voice only teased, for all he could imagine the man next to him, he longed to see Hannibal's subtle expressions shift with the conversation. He longed to touch him. Often times he thought about that brief moment in the BSHCI, when the smallest patch of skin on their index fingers had brushed together. 

He wished he'd admitted to himself sooner, the way he'd felt. Wished he had taken Hannibal's hand like he'd wanted. 

"Will," Hannibal started, and the man groaned.

"I know, I- never mind. Tell me about your dinner party, did it go well?"

"Will. We often rely on the other to dissect our meaning from carefully crafted words, but may I speak plainly for a moment?”

“Uh, sure?” Will swallowed, reaching a hand up to scratch his shoulder.

“Very soon I will be in position to begin placing a plan in motion, but it requires leverage I might not have any longer, and should it fail I will need to arrange other methods. However, I have waited this long and longer still, waiting does not daunt me. I am a very patient man, Will. I am able to bide my time because I know it to be necessary, but do not believe that means I do not desire to see you. My day begins and ends with our phone calls. My greatest fear is that one day I will wake up and find your feelings for me are some elaborate illusion created by my memory palace, and that it shall end the moment I try to hold on too tightly.” Hannibal paused, but not because he was waiting for a reciprocation, or because he was nervous. It was nothing more than a natural break in his speech, but Will’s heart thumped loudly in his chest anyway, nerves making him clench the phone tighter. “Will. I am sure you are aware, but I feel compelled to say it aloud. I love you.”

Even though he was sitting down, Will felt dizzy. He’d known, of course he’d known, but hearing it from Hannibal’s lips was different from _knowing_. He exhaled shakily when he realized he’d been holding his breath, trying to figure out how to respond. “I…” He wet his lips. “I.”

“To answer your earlier question, the dinner party went very well.” Hannibal sounded amused. Will knew Hannibal was giving him an out, giving him a way to just gloss over the words, pretend they hadn’t been said while the conversation lasted. 

He didn’t want to take it, wanted to continue speaking plainly, as Hannibal had said, wanted to… wanted to reciprocate the sentiment.

Will pressed his lips together, letting his eyes fall shut. “Yeah?” he asked, voice cracking.

“Yes. Estefan and Avery did get into another argument however, which resulted in…”

Hannibal continued talking, but Will could hear nothing but his own regrets, shouting at him from just inside his ears.

 

 

 

The phone rang. 

Once.

Twice.

Six times.

No one answered. Will stared down at his cell, pursing his lips. He so rarely caught Hannibal at a time he was unable to answer, it was still just this shade of disappointing. Resigning himself to waiting, he dropped the phone on his bed and moved to the kitchen, intent on seeing what was for dinner. 

He didn’t have any meat in the fridge. Absentmindedly he started to throw together a quick veggie stir fry, considering this fact. The things he’d told Hannibal had been on his mind constantly since their last phone call. 

He could get away with it, if he was careful.

The FBI no longer kept such a watchful eye, now that Jack had given up the hope that he would come to him one day with news that Hannibal had been in contact. Will’s lips twitched, the thought of the agent running in circles an all too amusing one.

As usual, Will shook his head, putting the idea out of his mind.

Better to wait. Better to bide his time. When Hannibal and he were together again, then they could hunt. He looked over to Encephalitis, wondering if she would take to the flavor of human flesh. His other dogs had certainly enjoyed it. 

Will called once more that evening, but Hannibal was still busy. Will took Encephalitis for a midnight walk, then came back and went to bed. 

 

 

The phone rang seven times before Will hung up. He stared at it with a small frown, wondering if Hannibal had needed to travel suddenly, or if he was really so determined to have Will start all their phone calls that he wouldn’t call him back when he was free. 

 

That night Will dreamed of an ocean of blood. Hannibal and he were bathed in it, but he’d never felt more pure in his entire life. Hannibal’s predator eyes watched him with intense concentration, like he was the only person in the world, like he _was_ the world. They were the only ones standing amidst a field of corpses, faceless people, that Will somehow felt he knew. The only sound was their beating hearts.

“See,” Hannibal breathed, and his voice was rough with something that sent a shiver down Will’s spine. “This is all I ever wanted for you, Will. For both of us.” Hannibal reached out, and Will met him halfway.

“It’s beautiful.”

 

 

“We're sorry; you have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service. If you feel you have reached this recording in error, please check the number and try your call again.”

Will stared down at the phone, blinking hard.

For a full minute he did not move, barely breathed, before his brain caught up with reality and he did as the voice suggested, hanging up and pressing re-dial. 

“We're sorry; you have reached a number that has been-”

Will hung up, brow furrowing as he let the phone slip from his hand onto the bed. Hannibal must have had to change the number, but he could have told him this beforehand.

Then again, in Hannibal’s situation one didn’t always have the gift of forewarning. Will resigned himself to the situation, knowing that Hannibal had his number, and he’d get in contact when whatever trouble had occurred blew over. He told himself that he wouldn’t be impatient. 

 

 

 

Two weeks, and Will started to get irritated. This was Hannibal, he could have found some way, if he really wanted, to let Will know what was going on. To let him know he was all right. 

 

 

 

 

 

A month, and Will started to get angry. He combed through their last phone call in his head, trying to pick up something he might have missed, some clue.

_“Yes. Estefan and Avery did get into another argument however, which resulted in Ariel storming out in a huff. It was all quite dramatic. I might have fanned a few flames.”_

_“Why am I not surprised.”_

_“I must find entertainment somewhere. How have your meals been faring? Tell me you’ve been properly feeding yourself.”_

_Will rolled his eyes, but there was a smile on his lips. “Yeah. I actually cooked every night this week. I felt like you.”_

_“I do go out, occasionally.”_

_“Yeah, I don’t get out much these days.”_

_“Why not?”_

_Will shrugged, even though he knew Hannibal wouldn’t be able to see. “I dunno. Just don’t feel like it.”_

_“Will, socialization is part of a healthy lifestyle.”_

_“Thanks, doctor.” Will was half amused and half irritated at the fact that he couldn’t use that phrase sarcastically._

_“I will take you to the finest events, I assure you.”_

_“Drag me, you mean.”_

_“You will enjoy yourself, Will. I will make sure of it.”_

_Will’s lips twitched. There was a sound from the other end of the line, and he heard Hannibal start to say something, then stop._

_“…I’m afraid I must go now. Will… perhaps- hmm. You do not need to call me, tomorrow. I’ll contact you.”_

_Will frowned, eyes wandering up the wall. “Okay?”_

_“Goodbye, Will.”_

Hannibal hadn’t called. Will breathed in deeply, going over the conversation again. He hadn’t really been listening to Hannibal’s tone. He’d been so wrapped up in his own thoughts, he hadn’t been attempting to read Hannibal’s. What had he been about to say? Was it important? Hannibal wasn’t the type of person to second guess himself. 

“Dammit.” Will kicked over the small stand by his bed in his anger, flinching when Encephalitis scrambled away. “Sorry- sorry girl. Come here. Hey, it’s okay.” He sighed, scratching the dog behind her ears, staring down into her dark eyes. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Her nostrils flared.

“I wonder if that’s what Hannibal’s doing. If this is some kind of test. Kind of thought we were past that.”

Encephalitis rested her head against his legs.

“It’s fishing without a lure. Nothing to do but wait.” Will sighed. Hannibal would call eventually, he knew. It was inevitable. 

 

 

 

 

Two months, and Will started to get worried.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Will woke to a knock on the door. When he turned and looked at the clock, the hour was obnoxiously early. He considered ignoring it, but realized despite the haze of sleep that he didn’t get too many visitors. He woke up more fully at this thought, swallowing hard at the thought of who it might be. 

He jumped out of bed, making an irritated sound when he saw Encephalitis had jumped up next to him at some point in the night. He’d let her up _once_ when he’d had a particularly hard time sleeping, and she’d taken it as an invitation. “Down,” he muttered, but didn’t bother to see if she obeyed.

He tugged open the door a little harder than necessary. 

“Will.”

Will let out a breath. “Jack. There a reason you couldn’t have just called?”

Jack stared at him hard, and Will tired of it quicker than he might have used to. “I did call, you never picked up.”

“What is it, Jack.”

“Are you going to invite me in?”

Will let out a sigh, turning around and moving towards the kitchen to get a cup of coffee. He heard Jack enter and close the door behind him. Encephalitis was nowhere to be found, so he assumed she was taking advantage of his absence to lie in the bed some more. 

“You’ve removed yourself from the world, Will.”

Will snorted, not bothering to get out two mugs. He didn’t plan to let Jack stay long enough to need one. “What does that matter to you?”

“I wanted to tell you this in person.”

“Tell me what?” Will snapped, but regretted it a moment later. Jack looked taken aback. Will took in a deep breath, and let it out slowly, pressing a hand to his face. “Sorry. Sorry I’ve been… I haven’t been sleeping well lately.

Jack walked into the kitchen as well, clasping his hands together in front of him. It looked like it pained him to keep them there. Will was unnerved by the proximity, after so long without much contact from anyone aside from cashiers, and the occasional visit to Wally.

“What is it Jack? Spit it out already.”

Jack watched his face carefully, and Will looked away, frowning at his coffee maker. 

“Will. Hannibal Lecter is dead.”

Will waited for Jack to speak, the words passing through him like they hadn’t even been said. It was a few moments before he forced himself to go back through them, to acknowledge them, to react. 

To understand.

First came confusion. “What? Er, I thought you… you found him?”

Jack gave a curt nod. “A few months ago we got wind that he might be in Cuba.”

Confusion gave way to a tight, clenching sensation in his chest. Will struggled to keep his face even. “Cuba?” His voice cracked, but if Jack noticed he didn’t say anything.

“Yes. We searched high and low, and finally found him. A newbie to the team, actually, Clarice Starling. You’d like her,” Jack said, like that mattered.

“What- well, what- did you- you killed him?” It was getting harder to catalogue his reactions. Jack’s tone turned pitying, while his face sank into a mask he used to protect himself when he felt uncomfortable. Will assumed he wasn’t doing so well pretending his world wasn’t falling apart.

“Like I said, Starling found him. From her report, he set the building they were in on fire during their confrontation. He didn’t make it out. There’s a body.”

“A body.” Will felt dizzy. He leaned against the counter.

“Will, are you all right?”

“Get out.”

“What?”

Will looked up, finally able to slide his own mask back on, staring somewhere over Jack’s shoulder. “I said leave.”

“Will. Don’t you-”

“I know you can’t understand it, Jack. The world’s a better place without him in it, I know, but that doesn’t change the fact that he was my friend. Leave me alone.”

Jack’s jaw set, and for a second it looked like he might argue. He turned though, and walked out the door, closing it quietly behind him. 

Will stared at the wall for five minutes, then went back to his room.

Numb.

Empty.

Incomplete.

Unfulfilled.

_“I love, you.”_

“I love you too.” Suddenly it seemed like such a simple thing to say.


	15. Release

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will finds a way to cope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, everyone. I have no idea how this chapter turned into such a monster, but please enjoy. I didn't quite make my next day deadline as planned (it's 2 am now, so close), but considering this ended up being nearly 10,000 words, I can forgive myself.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who left such wonderful comments and cheered me own through this process. I can't tell you how much I appreciate it. This story would not have gotten finished without you guys.
> 
> Also, half of my comment replies last chapter were apologies xD I'll say it again, I'm sorry. But you won't regret reading on!

If it weren’t for Encephalitis, Will wasn’t sure he would have gotten out of the bed for days. It wasn’t fair for her though, for him to sit around listlessly. So life went on. He didn’t feel like he was living, though, not really. 

At times, when the thoughts in his head got to be too overwhelming, he’d find himself just sitting on the couch for hours. No motivation to get up, or take care of the house, or eat. Will would look up, and see Hannibal there, giving him a disapproving stare. He would hear Hannibal’s voice asking him what he was doing. He’d be forced to move, if only to make the vision disappear.

He still hadn’t cried. Sometimes he felt like he might, or like he should, but tears wouldn’t come. It was like he was waiting for someone to tell him this was all some elaborate joke, just another one of Hannibal’s plans, waiting for it’s inevitable conclusion.

This wasn’t how things were supposed to end. 

Will forced himself to start going back to the dog park, so that Encephalitis could get some socialization, at least. She didn’t run around as much as the other dogs, but he could tell it made her happy. Sometimes seeing her so carefree would lift the weight off his shoulders, just for a little. Just enough to get by.

 

The thought came to him one such day, when he’d taken her out. By chance he turned his head, and saw that woman. After a moment, he remembered her name was Lucy. She was sitting on a bench alone, talking on the phone. Her dog was with her again, but she wasn’t holding him. 

He was sitting on the ground. Sometimes, he’d get up and walk around, before moving closer to his owner and rubbing against her leg. Lucy, almost thoughtlessly, nudged him away with her foot. He might not have even noticed, had they not spoken before. The spark of annoyance in her brow, the twitch of her lip.

The dog- Chekov, right, would wait a few moments, and then shift closer and try again. He was limping, Will realized. His paw was injured. Lucy nudged him away again. It wasn’t really a nudge, though. Looking closer, it was more like a kick. She made a shooing gesture with her hand, and Chekov flinched back, moving to wait under the bench.

Will knew exactly what to do. Exactly what would take the oppressive weight off his chest. The desire bubbled up in his chest so suddenly he found it hard to breathe for a moment, his hands clenching into fists on his lap.

“Will you take her?” Hannibal’s voice said from next to him. Will didn’t look over, but he knew Hannibal would be dressed impeccably, legs crossed, staring down at the bench as if concerned what it might do to the fabric of his expensive suit.

“I have to be sure.”

“You’re not already?”

Will exhaled slowly, closing his eyes. “I’ll do this my way.” He felt a hand on his shoulder, and the touch burned. 

“I would be disappointed if you didn’t.”

Will took Encephalitis home.

 

 

The next week, he went back to the dog park on the same day, at the same time. Lucy was there. He watched her out of her line of sight for a while, and then waited until she had picked up Chekov and was walking out before approaching. 

“Oh, hey. Lucy, right?” 

She blinked, appearing startled for a moment, before an easy smile shifted onto her face. He could see a change in her eyes. Watched her analyze the situation. 

“Will! Hi. Um, how are you?”

Will shrugged, smiling and feigning embarrassment by dropping his eyes, shifting his hands to his pockets. Beside him, Encephalitis stared up at Chekov, tail slowly wagging. “Good. Actually, I was wondering if that offer for coffee was still open.” 

It was risky, trying this approach first. It had been months, after all. But, Lucy didn’t strike him as the type of person who went to the dog park because she wanted a good environment for her dog to play in. Now that he was paying attention, she struck him as the kind of person who browsed places like this for men she could reel in by acting like a dog lover. The kind of person who used her pet like an accessory while leaving them starved for affection. The kind of person he could hunt.

He watched her face carefully. She didn’t look surprised- she’d assumed from his approach what he might say. Instead she looked smug, then covered it with a shy smile. 

“Oh! Well, it is if you’re interested in taking it… um, things didn’t work out with your girlfriend?”

As he’d thought. Will shrugged helplessly. “We were already sort of rocky, when you and I met. I’ve uh, seen you around here a couple times since then, and I remembered how much I enjoyed our conversation.”

Lucy positively preened at the compliment. 

“Oh, I enjoyed it too. I’d love to get coffee.” She looked around. “Did you mean now?”

Will laughed. “Yeah, now is fine, now is good.”

“I’ll show you the way.”

 

 

 

“So, I don’t think you ever told me your dogs name.”

Will cringed. “Oh, it’s um. Encephalitis.”

Lucy stared, and he could see her trying to figure out what to make of that. “That’s a mouthful,” she said finally, letting out a little giggle. 

He smiled. “Kind of an… inside joke. I call her Cephy sometimes.”

“Okay good, I think I can actually pronounce that.” She laughed again. 

When their coffee came, Lucy finally put down Chekov. Will made a show of leaning down to pet him, and noticed the way Lucy tensed as the dog hobbled towards his hand. “Oh, what happened to his leg?”

Lucy laughed flippantly, waving a hand. “Oh, this clumsy dog, he fell off the bed.” 

In his minds eye, Will could see Lucy sitting in bed with Chekov, see her scratching behind his ears. He could see the phone ring, see her answer, and when Chekov sought out more of the rare affection, he saw her push him in one, uncaring motion, heard his whine as he hit the ground wrong. 

Will smiled. “Poor thing. You should get it looked at.”

“The vet said it was nothing to worry about,” Lucy responded, too quickly. 

“Well, that’s good.”

They talked for as long as the coffee lasted, about mundane things, and Star Trek, and Will smiled and laughed along at her dull humor, finding it almost too easy to act engaged.

When they stood to leave, he watched her thoughtfully.

Lucy pretended not to notice for a moment, and then looked over, laughing shyly. “What is it?”

“I had a nice time,” Will said, looking away. “Um, are you busy on this day next week?” 

Lucy hummed, then brightened. “No, I’m completely free. I usually bring Chekov to the park on Fridays.”

Will smiled. “Would you like to have dinner, maybe?”

Lucy’s eyes lit up, another laugh leaving her. “I’d love to! Where?”

Will ran a hand through his hair. “Well, I’m sort of a…. hobbyist chef, I guess you could call it. I was thinking I could cook for you? Nothing fancy, but…” He trailed off, like he was uncertain, and as he’d hoped, Lucy hurried to reassure him.

“Hey, like I’m gonna turn down a free meal. I’m sure it’ll be great!”

Will grinned. “Excellent. Hey, bring Chekov. He and Cephy can play while we eat.” 

For a moment Lucy looked annoyed with that idea, but she nodded even as her smile dimmed. “Yeah, that’d be great! Then I don’t have to worry about leaving Chekov alone, either.”

“Yeah, Encephalitis and I would love to have both of you.” 

Lucy hummed. “So, where do you live?”

“Well, um,” Will paused, frowning. “Kind of out of the way… it’s a little hard to find for someone who’s never been there before. I could pick you up, maybe?” He could see her falter at that, see her consider. It didn’t really matter, but he would prefer not to have a car to get rid of when it was all said and done. “If that would make you uncomfortable…”

“No, no it’s fine! Um, I’ll give you my address.”

“Okay, I’ll pick you up at six?” 

“Perfect!”

 

 

Will took the next week to prepare. He got plates to cover his own, just in case his car was seen in the neighborhood Lucy’s apartment was in. He bought the ingredients for dinner. Hannibal stayed in the corner of his eye the entire time, a small smile on his face.

 

**Ingredients**

_2 pounds sliced beef liver_

_1 1/2 cups milk, or as needed_  
  
1/4 cup butter, divided

_2 large Vidalia onions, sliced into rings_

_2 cups all-purpose flour, or as needed_  
  
Salt and pepper to taste

 

 

Will woke immediately, but without startling. One moment he was wrapped in memories, dreams, and the next he was opening his eyes and staring up at the ceiling. Gradually, his pulse slowed and returned to normal. It took him a moment to realize what had woken him up. 

He could smell something cooking.

Will sat up, confused, looking first to the end of the bed, where Encephalitis had taken to sleeping. She was absent. 

Will pushed the covers off his legs, stood up, and walked towards the kitchen. 

He walked down the hall and saw a man standing with his back towards him, flipping something in a pan. He wore a perfectly fitted shirt that stretched over broad shoulders, sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms. Will’s legs felt weak.

This wasn’t one of his visions. It wasn’t a little voice in the back of his head. It wasn’t a smile, from the corner of his eye, or a knowing look when he needed to make himself get up and do something. This was so real. Too real.

“Hannibal?” He said into the morning, voice barely louder than a whisper, and the man turned. 

“Hello, Will.”

Will sat up with a gasp, panting hard, for a brief moment uncertain of where he was. In bed, the covers bunched around his waist, Encephalitis staring at him curiously. No Hannibal.

Will shuddered, closing his eyes and laying back down.

 

 

“Wow, you weren’t kidding when you said ‘out of the way’,” Lucy commented as they pulled up to his house. She didn’t sound nervous, though. Will gave her a smile. 

“Yeah. I like the quiet.”

“I don’t blame you… it’s beautiful out here.” She looked around, humming. “You must have had to pay an arm and a leg for all this property, though.”

He could hear the question in her comment. “It was worth it. Who’d mind paying a little extra for scenery like this?”

“So, what do you do?” Lucy probed. Will was surprised the question hadn’t come sooner. He’d been careful though, not to tell her too much about himself, distracting her by appealing to her vanity with other questions.

“I used to work for the FBI.” Hearing he had been in law enforcement would likely put her at ease. 

Indeed, she smiled. “Wow, that’s so interesting! Used to, though? Why’d you quit?”

“The cases got to be too much. I wanted something simpler.” He shrugged, parking the car and snapping off his seatbelt. 

“I can- Chekov!”

Will flinched, looking into the backseat where the dog in question was. The poor thing was obviously frightened, and Will could tell by the smell that slowly wafted towards him he must have peed in the car. 

“Ugh, bad dog, bad! Stupid- You know better than that!” 

Chekov shrunk back at Lucy’s yelling, ducking his head. She turned towards Will, the anger on her face lingering. “I am so sorry, I’ll pay for the cleaning bill. Ugh, this is so embarrassing.”

Will shook his head. “Hey, it’s fine. I should have known the little guy would be scared going someplace new in an unfamiliar environment. Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m _so_ sorry.”

Lucy got out of the car, opening the door and dragging Chekov out with more force than necessary. She held him out in front of her, a faint look of distaste on her face.

Will unlocked the door and stepped inside, greeting Encephalitis when she trotted up to him. “Hey, girl. Did you miss me?” He spent a few moments rubbing her ears, but when Lucy put down Chekov she immediately walked over to him. “Welcome to my home.”

“Oh, it’s… lovely.”

He hadn’t bothered cleaning up. The clutter from weeks of depression lingered around the rooms, but Will felt nothing from her judgmental tone. The cleanest room in the house was the kitchen, mostly because he hadn’t really touched it, until he’d started talking to Lucy again. He’d laid out a cutting board, measuring cups, a knife, and the butter in preparation. 

Will moved towards the kitchen and washed his hands.

“Oh, you haven’t cooked yet?” Lucy said, following him slowly, eyes running over his things. 

“No. I thought maybe you could help.” 

Lucy stepped up beside him, leaning against the counter. “Okay, that could be fun.”

Will turned off the water, and then punched Lucy’s cheek. She stumbled back, falling, hitting her head against the floor with a surprised groan. Will shook out his hand, leaning down and grabbed her by the wrists. He dragged her down the hall. She was surprisingly light.

Lucy was disoriented, and he felt her struggle only weakly to get out of his hold. Eventually he reached the bathroom, and closed the door behind them. 

“W-what are you doing?”

Will picked her up and dumped her unceremoniously inside the tub. She seemed to snap out of the daze she’d been in, scrambling to get up. Will shoved her back down, and then grabbed the back of her head. He slammed it against the wall, once, twice, satisfied by the heavy sound it made, by each little scream that left Lucy’s mouth. 

She slumped down once he released her, trembling. There was blood trickling from near her temple. Will waited a moment, to see if she’d move, and when he didn’t, he moved his hands to her shirt. 

Tears welled up and streamed down from her eyes as he pulled the fabric over her head. 

“P-please, don’t do this. You don’t have to do this. I- I like you, I really do, please don’t do this.”

Will snorted. He wasn’t in the mood to talk, though, so he didn’t respond, letting her make her own assumptions. Something in him felt placated at the brief acts of violence, but he didn’t intend to drag this out. 

Lucy sobbed, starting to struggle again when he reached for her pants. Will grabbed the hand she tried to push him away with, bending her index finger back until she screamed.

“S-stop! I’ll do whatever you want, just don’t hurt me!”

He kept up the pressure, until the bone gave. Lucy whimpered and cried, but didn’t try to stop him again. Will undressed her until she lay naked in the tub, and then gathered her clothes in his arm. 

“If you move, I’ll kill you,” he told her, feeling calmer than he had in weeks. She stared up at him with terror in her eyes, even as the hope that he might not end her life welled up as well. 

Will moved towards the door, opening it carefully, since he knew from the scratching noises the dogs were out there waiting, drawn by the screams.

“Sorry, guys. I’ll be done in a bit.”

He took Lucy’s clothes and dumped them in the washing machine, pouring in a little detergent and starting it up. Once that was done, he headed for the kitchen and picked up the sharpest knife he had.

When he returned to the bathroom Lucy hadn’t moved a muscle. He’d wondered what he would do if she tried to escape. Part of him even wanted her to, just for the challenge. But she just laid there, staring meekly up at him. At least, until she saw the knife.

“Wh- what is that for? Will? Will?”

He kneeled by the bathtub, frowning at her stomach. He’d done his research, but it all looked so much different when he wasn’t staring at a diagram.

“Will, please, wh- what are you going to do with that knife? Y-you’re scaring me, I’m scared, I- Will- Will _please_ , please listen to me, why are you doing this? Don’t- _don’t ignore me_ , how can you- just- say something, anything!” 

Will sighed, taking hold of her head again. She screamed when he made to hit it against the wall, blubbering something he couldn’t quite make out. She was silent, though, after two more hard hits, her head drooping to her chest once he released it. 

If he wasn’t trying to keep this relatively clean, he would have just slit her throat and been done with it. 

Lucy breathed hard, and he could hear her whimper, could tell she was trying not to call out. Her make-up was running down her face, making her look like some sad parody of a clown. She groaned when he made his incision. 

“N- no no no, no- ah- _AAAAHHH_ please, please stop it hurts it- hurts-”

He tried to make sure he didn’t cut too deep, not wanting to ruin the meat. Blood bubbled up from the wound, and then poured out as he made it wider. 

Lucy’s groans changed to gasps and pained breathing, her hands twitching at her sides. She lifted them a few times, attempting to stop him, but was too weak from the damage to her head.

  
It took him longer than he’d thought it would to find the liver, but once he had his lips pulled up into a genuine smile. It felt strange, to smile for real again, rather than for a part. “Looks like you take care of yourself, at least, if not your dog.”

Lucy gurgled.

Will rinsed the blood off the organ with the faucet in the tub, watching the red liquid swirl down the drain. 

 

_**Gently rinse liver slices under cold water, and place in a medium bowl. Pour in enough milk to cover. Let stand while preparing onions. (I like to soak up to an hour or two - whatever you have time for.) This step is SO important in taking the bitter taste of the liver out.** _

_**Melt 2 tablespoons of butter in a large skillet over medium heat. Separate onion rings, and saute them in butter until soft. Remove onions, and melt remaining butter in the skillet. Season the flour with salt and pepper, and put it in a shallow dish or on a plate. Drain milk from liver, and coat slices in the flour mixture.** _

_**When the butter has melted, turn the heat up to medium-high, and place the coated liver slices in the pan. Cook until nice and brown on the bottom. Turn, and cook on the other side until browned. Add onions, and reduce heat to medium. Cook a bit longer to taste. Our family prefers the liver to just barely retain a pinkness on the inside when you cut to check. Enjoy!** _

Will read through the recipe he’d found once more, carefully setting the slices of liver in the pan. He found the sizzling sound soothing. 

He ate his meal with a glass of the most expensive wine he’d been able to find, bringing it to his nose to inhale the sweet scent before he tasted. As he drank, he could feel a light burning sensation behind his eyes.

He took his first bite, then set his fork down and cried.

 

 

 

_“Hannibal?”_

_“Hello, Will.”_

Will opened his eyes, and immediately closed them again. He hated that dream the most. Hated the way it gave him hope. 

It was like ever since his dinner of Lucy’s liver, the tears hadn’t stopped. Now that he’d climbed whatever wall had kept his eyes dry, he couldn’t find any peace. Will swiped a hand over his face, inhaling deeply.

After he managed to calm a little, he sat up, whistling to get the dog’s attention. Encephalitis and Chekov’s heads both raised at once, and he stood, beckoning them off the bed. 

There was no hope in trying to break them of the habit, now.

Chekov was a timid thing, and showed classic signs of abuse. But Will was patient, and the time it took to earn the dog’s trust kept his mind distracted from other things.

It had only been a week, but he still hadn’t heard anything about Lucy’s disappearance. For some reason, he hadn’t been too worried about being found out. He’d been careful enough, and no one had reason to suspect him.

He was surprised how much he didn’t feel, after the fact. There was no remorse, or regret. Just that same mild satisfaction, and a tad bit of sadness at the fact that he couldn’t display her. His freezer was full again, though.

He took Encephalitis and Chekov on a long walk after he’d gotten dressed, as had become their routine. Then they’d go back and eat breakfast together, he’d try to get some work done, maybe go to the store and pick up some things, get a movie from red box, then come back to the house to start dinner. 

He didn’t know when he’d let himself hunt again. There was a sort of fun in it though, the waiting. Wondering when someone would notice.

Outside, it was sunny and clear, and though it was chilly Will decided he’d make due with just his sweater. 

“It’s nice out today,” he said, and the dogs padded joyfully ahead. They’d really taken to each other. Will watched them, lips twitching briefly upwards. 

This was enough. It would have to be.

 

They hadn’t been walking for very long when Will noticed something strange. A car, sitting out in the woods. It hadn’t been there the day before, he was certain. There was nothing out here to warrant someone stopping, unless they’d run out of gas.

He took a detour and jogged over, frowning as he considered the possibilities.

A quick inspection found the vehicle empty. There was nothing in it that would indicate it had been occupied either. Will frowned, straightening.

He whistled, drawing Encephalitis, and in turn Chekov, who followed her.

“Come on, guys. We’re going home early.” The only thing of interest out here at all was his house.

Will jogged home, picturing in his mind where the closest thing he could use as a weapon was to the front door. 

When they got to the house, he peered through the windows first, feeling paranoid, but wanting to make sure no one was inside. 

The first window he looked through revealed nothing. The second was a bit more fruitful. 

Will stared, and then he flinched back, stumbling over Encephalitis and falling to the ground. He stayed down, for several long seconds, before jumping up and running to the front door.

Will threw it open unceremoniously, taking hurried steps until he reached the kitchen. Inside, Hannibal Lecter stood, casual as you please, making pancakes. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. He looked up in mild surprise at Will’s entrance, but then simply smiled.

“Hello, Will.”

It was too real. Will fell to his knees, shaking his head. “No.” He hadn’t been sleeping. This wasn’t one of his visions, but he _hadn’t been sleeping_ , he’d woken up, he’d been conscious, fully alert. His head was swimming, heart pounding hard in his chest. He felt dizzy. “No, I was. I was awake. I am awake. No.” 

“Will.”

Will kept his head down, in the hopes that this figment of his imagination would disappear. It didn’t, though, and he could hear him coming closer. Then see him kneeling down. Then he could _feel_ him. He could feel this fake Hannibal’s hand on his shoulder, and it was nothing like in his dreams, or in his mind. It was warm, and solid, and Will’s breath hitched. 

“Will, I’m sorry I couldn’t contact you sooner.” Hannibal’s other hand moved to his other shoulder, and the man squeezed him, so gently. “Will. I need you to breathe. Deep breaths. Inhale, exhale. That’s it.”

Will barely processed himself obeying the commands, still staring at the ground, eyes wide. The dogs were sniffing around Hannibal curiously. ‘Traitor’s’, he thought at them, clenching his hands into fists. 

“Will. Look at me, please. Don’t be angry with me. I had to make sure the FBI believed I was dead.” 

“It’s not real,” Will told himself, trying to cement this fact in his mind. It wasn’t real. “Wake up. Wake up.” It couldn’t be encephalitis again, could it? He hadn’t noticed any loss of time… no hallucinations… other than his usual ones. Oh, god, he really was fucked up. 

Suddenly there was a hand on his face. Hannibal lifted his head, and Will couldn’t bring himself to pull away. He was forced to look. 

Hannibal looked different. Will was expecting the Hannibal he’d seen in the BSHCI, or the Hannibal from before then, but he was neither. Hannibal had a light tan. His hair was longer, just a touch, than Will had ever seen it, and it wasn’t smoothed back. He was wearing an outfit Will had never seen. One he didn’t have in his memory palace. A button up the faintest shade of blue and a waistcoat in a much darker hue of the same color, faint veins of yellow threaded through. As he watched, Hannibal’s lips pulled up into a smile. 

“Will.”

“It’s… is it really you?”

Hannibal rubbed a thumb over his cheek, and Will realized he was crying. He couldn’t bring himself to care, though. Not when Hannibal was in front of him, living, breathing. Living. Alive. Hannibal was alive. He wasn’t dreaming.

“It is. Would you care for a glass of water?”

Will stared. “That’s it? You disappear for months and that’s it? I thought you were dead, Hannibal!” The anger in his tone deflated immediately after the words were said, and Will let out a sigh, sinking forward to rest his forehead on the other’s shoulder. Hannibal’s arms moved around him.

Hannibal smelled of something light and fresh. Will shuddered, eyes wide as he realized they were touching. He was _touching_ Hannibal, could feel his warmth around him, feel him breathing. Will’s own arms shot out to embrace the other man, intent on not wasting another moment, now that he had confirmed this was reality. 

If it wasn’t, he didn’t want to know. 

“Everything I did was necessary,” Hannibal said after a moment, voice soft. Will could feel lips against his head. “It was agony, letting you believe I was dead, but it had to be done, Will.” 

Will exhaled shakily, not wanting to forgive so easily, but finding it awfully hard when just having Hannibal back was the best gift he could have ever possibly gotten. “Did Chiyoh know?”

“No,” Hannibal said, and Will felt some of the tension ease in his chest. “No one knew, except for the agent who assisted me with my plans.”

“Agent?”

“Clarice Starling.”

Vaguely, Will remembered the name. “Are you sure she won’t betray you?”

“I’d bet my life on it.”

Will wrinkled his nose, and then he was laughing. He laughed, and shook, and held Hannibal tight, because he was afraid the other would slip away the moment he released him. Then he heard Hannibal laugh as well, and it was the most beautiful sound he could ever remember. Hannibal’s laugh, not over the phone, or in his memories. Real, and right next to him, puffs of air against his hair. 

Laughter turned into more tears, and Hannibal seemed perfectly content to hold him through it all, both of them sitting on the floor like children while the dogs wandered off, tired of being ignored. 

Some time later, Will finally stopped shaking. He forced himself to pull away, eyes studying Hannibal’s face.

“Unfortunately, Will, I do believe I shall have to start breakfast again.”

Will snorted, rubbing a hand over his cheeks. “I had a dream like this. I woke up, and walked out of my room, and there you were, just cooking breakfast in the kitchen like you’ve always lived here.”

Hannibal looked pleased. “So then, I’ve made your dreams come true.”

Will tried, but his lips twitched up anyway. “You.”

“Me?”

“I missed you, so much.” 

Hannibal’s eyes softened. For a moment, he seemed to lean closer, but then he was standing, offering Will a hand. “I missed you as well. Come. Shall we catch up while I finish our meal?”

Will stared at Hannibal’s hand, the hand he’d so often dreamed of, that he’d wished so badly to touch, to hold. He took it carefully, watching the connection as he rose. 

“I took the liberty of using some of your meat to make sausage,” Hannibal said as he moved back into the kitchen. Will felt a pang of loss when the other dropped his hand. 

“That’s fine.”

“I couldn’t help but notice the abundance of offal. I didn’t expect that from you.” 

Will looked up, taking in the knowing look on Hannibal’s face, the question in his tone. He gave a little shrug, the corners of his lips pulling up. “Thought I’d try a different sort of fishing.”

If Will hadn’t known Hannibal as well as he did, he might not have caught the subtle reaction the other had to his words, even as he started to make new pancakes. It had been so long, and yet, their connection did not feel as if it had dulled in the slightest, still bright, fresh.

“Oh? And what did you catch?”

Will walked over to the counter, standing next to Hannibal and watching him work. He took in a deep breath, eyes roaming over the other’s hands, his wrists. Hannibal looked healthy, like he’d lost weight, or maybe gained muscle, though the change was subtle. “Her name was Lucy.”

Hannibal tilted his head. Will let him stew in anticipation for a moment, before he went on.

“She was a girl I met at the park. An abusive pet owner. Chekov over there was hers.” 

He gestured to where Chekov had curled up in the dog bed he usually used during the day (but not at night of course, that would just be practical). Hannibal’s lips twitched up.

“Then the other must be dear Encephalitis.”

Will laughed a little, remembering their first conversation about her. “Yeah. They’re both pretty subdued compared to my other dogs.”

This felt surreal. Not a half hour ago he’d thought Hannibal was dead, and now they were having a conversation about his dogs. He felt like there was something else he should be saying, something he needed to tell Hannibal. Something he’d regretted not saying before- 

“I love you!” Will blurted, much louder than necessary, eyes widening. Hannibal seemed to freeze, and Will’s brain caught up with his words, fairly horrified that he’d gone from talking about Encephalitis and Chekov to just shouting that out. There were probably much better ways to say it. Not that Will could think of any. God he wasn’t good at this sort of thing.

Hannibal closed his eyes, and Will noticed a bead of moisture roll down the other’s cheek. “Are you crying?” Hannibal finally turned, and Will wasn’t sure if he should feel amused or even more horrified or exasperatedly fond. “Hannibal.”

“I apologize. I did not anticipate I would be so affected by mere words.” Hannibal didn’t wipe his face, and Will felt the need to do it for him. He didn’t though, hands twitching at his sides. 

“You already knew, though… didn’t you?”

Hannibal gave him a look, and Will had to avert his eyes for a moment, but he looked back quickly, still sort of scared if he turned away the man would disappear.

“I love you too, Will.”

In the end, all of the pancakes were burnt, but it was the best breakfast Will had ever had.

 

That night after dinner, they sat on the porch- well, Will did, Hannibal stood next to the rail, presumably not to get his pants dirty- each with a glass of wine. Will watched Hannibal close his eyes as he enjoyed the scent, and thought he might start crying again. 

“You can wait until tomorrow, to pack your bags,” Hannibal said almost absentmindedly, watching the sun fall behind the trees. 

It took Will a second to comprehend that. “Pack?”

“Yes,” Hannibal said, taking a sip of his drink. “I have made a place for us.” He paused suddenly, turning and meeting Will’s eyes. It was the first time Will noticed he was staring, and had been all day. At least Hannibal didn’t seem to mind. “You will accompany me when I leave?”

Will barely avoided laughing. “Do you really have to ask?”

“No, I suppose I don’t.” 

“What about Cephy and Chekov?”

“I had planned for quite a few more dogs. Two will be a simple matter.” 

Will smiled. They sat in quiet for a moment, and Will finally felt safe to look away, watching the sunset. He brought his glass to his lips, closing his eyes. 

“If you discovered, Will,” Hannibal said a moment later, drawing the other’s attention back to him, “That Lucy had not been an abusive owner after all. Would you regret it?”

Will considered the question. He’d known it would come sooner or later though, and didn’t have to think long on his answer. 

“No.” He'd wanted to do it. He'd enjoyed it. When he'd punched her, he hadn't thought about how she'd abused Chekov at all, only how could it had felt to feel his fist connect with her face.

Hannibal didn’t respond, but Will could tell he was pleased.

“You have a guest room,” Hannibal said when they went back inside. 

Will hesitated to reply. “I do.” 

Hannibal smiled. “I will see myself to it. Goodnight, Will.” 

“Night.” Will watched Hannibal go, unable to help feeling like he’d missed out on another opportunity. 

 

 

Will woke immediately, but without startling. One moment he was wrapped in a pleasant warmth, and the next he was opening his eyes and staring up at the ceiling of his soon to be former home. Gradually, a smile spread across his lips. He knew exactly what had woken him up.

Will practically jumped out of bed, and then laughed at himself, breathing in deeply and letting it out slow. 

It really hadn’t been a dream.

Hannibal was alive. 

Hannibal was alive, and in his kitchen right now, cooking breakfast for the both of them. Later today he’d pack his bags, and Hannibal would take him away somewhere no one would find them, and it was ridiculous to hope for that sort of happy ever after, but he did it anyway. He felt light, lighter than he could ever remember feeling. Maybe they really were the stars of some ridiculous romance, Victorian or otherwise. That suited him just fine.

The only difference was, their’s would have a lot more blood.

Will stepped out of his room and padded towards the kitchen, where he could see Encephalitis and Chekov already waiting. When Hannibal idly dropped a hand down, feeding first the larger dog, then the smaller, some sort of meat, Will couldn’t blame them for crowding around the man. Some part of his heart tightened, a soft smile spreading on his lips.

He moved closer, and Hannibal turned. “Good morning, Will.”

Will’s smile widened, and he kissed the corner of Hannibal’s mouth. “Morning.”

A clattering sound rang throughout the kitchen. Will blinked hard, then stepped back, glancing towards the spatula Hannibal had dropped, watching as the dogs hurried to lick it clean. “Er, I.” He looked back up at Hannibal, who was staring at him with an astonished look on his face. He didn’t think he’d ever seen Hannibal so startled. The look wasn’t fading, either, not replaced with a smug smile, or the usual indifference. The moment felt frozen as they stared at each other. 

Will swallowed, and then Hannibal’s eyes broke their stare-off, dropping down to Will’s mouth, instead. Heat curled in Will’s stomach, and he closed the distance between them, kissing Hannibal with an urgency that startled even himself. Hannibal took a step back, and Will moved an arm around the other’s back to drag him closer, taking Hannibal’s lower lip into his mouth and biting, hard. He heard Chekov bark.

Then, Will felt Hannibal’s hands. One at the back of his neck, then between his shoulders, the other in his hair, then his waist, like the man couldn’t decide where to touch. Hannibal’s tongue asked invitation and Will’s mouth parted immediately, a groan leaving him when he felt the appendage slide inside. Hannibal tasted like toothpaste. Some part of him wanted desperately to feel Hannibal’s teeth. 

Will opened his eyes in a daze when he felt his back hit the counter. Hannibal kissed him like his lips held the answer to the meaning of life, and Will responded with desperation, fisting his hands in the other’s shirt hard enough that he felt he’d be scolded later for putting wrinkles in the fabric. He pulled back for air, panting, and Hannibal’s mouth moved to his neck. Their bodies were so close Will was forced to bend back, the counter edge digging into his spine, but he couldn’t even bring himself to care.

He let out an embarrassing noise when Hannibal sucked on a patch of flesh and then bit down, trying to get closer, somehow. He tugged on the back of Hannibal’s shirt, and when the man moved back, Will clambered up on the counter, dragging Hannibal back as soon as he was settled. 

They kissed again, adjusting to the angle of Will being taller now, and Will breathed hard through his nose, taking his turn plundering Hannibal’s mouth and running his tongue over the back of the other’s teeth. Hannibal’s hands settled at the small of him back, dragging him close.

Closer, closer, and suddenly Will realized, as his groin pressed against Hannibal’s stomach, that he was definitely, painfully, hard. The position forced his legs open, and he dug his knees into Hannibal’s sides, shuddering at the feeling of those strong, clever hands roaming over his back, his thighs.

Without meaning to, he rocked his hips, pressing himself more firmly against the solid wall that was Hannibal, and a moan tumbled from his mouth at the friction this provided. He repeated the action, toes curling in his socks, erection throbbing in his boxers. 

Then Hannibal pulled away. 

Will wrapped his legs around the other’s waist, dragging him back, burying his head in Hannibal’s neck and panting hard. He thrust against the other again, biting his lip as another burst of pleasure shot through him.

“Will,” Hannibal breathed, and he sounded entirely wrecked. 

Will bit back another moan, quite positive he could come just like this. 

Hannibal’s hands moved to his legs, and Will shuddered. 

“Will, release me.”

“God, I’m trying,” Will gasped, and he heard Hannibal’s breathing stutter to a stop. 

One of Hannibal’s hands slid to his back, a finger brushing under his shirt, just barely grazing the skin there, but Will arched like he’d been electrified, eyes flying open as he felt an orgasm approaching. “Oh, fuck.”

Hannibal tugged out of his hold, and Will didn’t have the reflex to pull him back anymore, so he was left breathing fast, hands falling down to grip the edge of the counter.

He looked up, staring at Hannibal, swallowing at the look in his eyes. His shirt was mussed, lips red and kiss swollen. He was hard, too. Will had never seen this Hannibal anywhere but his own fantasies, and he could do little else but stare, lips parting, length pulsing with need. 

“Hannibal,” he managed, and it sounded a lot like a whine.

Hannibal turned, moving to the stove and turning off the burner. “I’d rather avoid burning your house down.” Hannibal’s attempt to sound composed didn’t entirely work. 

Will swallowed, taking a deep breath, and sliding off the counter. “Sorry.”

“I believe you have a bedroom, where we might continue in more comfortable accomoda-”

Will grabbed Hannibal’s wrist before the man could finish, dragging him back the way he’d came, shutting the door behind them when he noticed the dogs approaching. 

Hannibal looked amused. Will kissed the smile off his face, pressing the other against the door. His hands slid down to Hannibal’s pants, cursing against the other’s lips when he felt a belt.

“Will, there is a perfectly good bed just over there-”

Will kissed him again, deciding he didn’t need to see to undo the belt after all, and though it took him a few tries he got it undone. Hannibal’s hands were on him again by the time he finished. He dropped the belt to the ground, moving on to the button, but he paused when he heard a faint noise.

It was Hannibal. Will suddenly, desperately wanted to hear that noise again, but louder, longer, wanted to make Hannibal shout, wanted to break away completely the man’s careful composure that he was so known for. 

Instead of undoing the button, he palmed Hannibal’s erection through his pants, and felt a tremor run through the man. Hannibal’s lips faltered on his, and when Will started to squeeze, to massage, Hannibal pulled away entirely in favor of resting his head against the door.

Will opened his eyes to see the other’s face, eyes caught by the empty space in Hannibal’s open mouth. 

He’d fantasized about this moment for so long, it was hard to remember that this was his first time with a man. The only thing he could focus on was that this was _Hannibal_. 

“Nnh- Will,” Hannibal panted, and Will surged forward to kiss him again, tasting the other’s lips. He needed more. He needed skin. 

Will pulled away to tug off his shirt, already missing the warmth of Hannibal against him. He let the fabric fall to the ground, and when he looked at Hannibal again, he found himself frozen once more by his stare.

God, he was gorgeous. 

Hannibal’s eyes flicked down, and then he was kneeling. Will’s breath hitched, the muscles in his thighs tensing as he considered what he could with with _that mouth_ in this position. Then, Hannibal picked up his shirt, and carefully began to fold it.

Will stared, and then pressed a hand over his face, laughing.

“You should take better care of your clothes Will,” Hannibal said, still breathing heavy. “And mine.” He picked up his belt and stood, moving to set both things on a small chair in the corner of Will’s room. 

Will watched him go, feeling incredibly, stupidly fond. Will walked over to the bed, tugging off his socks, and watching Hannibal unbutton his waist coat with care, watched him fold it expertly, then do the same with his shirt. Admittedly, he was focused more on the skin revealed than the clothing itself. 

He wasn’t quite expecting the hair on the man’s chest, for some reason.

“Your socks,” Hannibal requested, and Will tossed them over, watching as they were caught easily. “Your boxers.” 

Will swallowed, standing and sliding the fabric down his hips. The interlude had done nothing to deter his arousal, and it bobbed proudly towards his stomach as it was freed from his underwear. He tossed those as well, and Hannibal caught them without looking. They were folded, and added to the pile.

Will fell back onto the bed, biting his lip as he waited impatiently for Hannibal to join him. 

Hannibal slid his pants down his legs, and of course his underwear was silk. Will didn’t bother to hide his staring when those came off. He’d had many a dream, many a fantasy, about what Hannibal might look like, but nothing compared to the real thing. 

Hannibal was just as hard as he, yet he still somehow found the ability to stand there and calmly fold their clothing, setting them in piles next to each other and resting their socks on top. 

Will’s eyes dropped down to the other’s ass when he bent to take his socks off, and he had to move a hand to his cock, giving it a light squeeze as a jolt of heat had him panting again.

Then, finally, Hannibal came over. His eyes perused Will, who was lying half back on the bed, one hand fisting his arousal, and Will’s hips twitched into his hand. “Dammit, Hannibal, I’m not as patient as you are.” 

Hannibal’s lips twitched, and then he dropped smoothly down to his knees, sliding his hands up Will’s thighs. 

Will’s hips jerked again, and his legs lifted briefly off the ground, breathing getting quicker. “Fuck.”

“No need to be so vulgar.” 

Before Will could laugh, Hannibal leaned forward and he could feel the other’s breath against him, making all the air leave his lungs. Then Hannibal’s tongue slid over his head in one hot, broad stroke, and Will groaned, his hand falling away to give the other access to the rest of him. Hannibal repeated the gesture, and Will’s elbows gave out, sending him flat backed agains the bed. He stared up at the ceiling, then closed his eyes, tossing an arm over his face. “Oh god, oh god, _nnh_.” 

He was so close. Will’s thighs tensed, and Hannibal’s hands ran over them soothingly, though the gesture did everything but soothe. 

Hannibal’s mouth, his mouth, _that mouth_ , slid over the head, and Will groaned, fingers scrambling to grab at the covers. He groaned again when Hannibal stopped just under the head, however, cock throbbing hard, hips shifting up in an effort to get Hannibal to go further. He stayed at the head, though, and started to _suck_ , and suddenly Will realized Hannibal was fulfilling the only fantasy he’d ever shared with the man. 

He felt so in love and so aroused all at once. His stomach tightened, and his mouth dropped open, toes curling. “Ha- haaa- Hannibal, shit, Hannibal, I’m- you gotta- _nnnhhh_ , s-stop, I’m gonna come. Stop, hold on.” 

Hannibal obliged, but Will couldn’t help but whine, panting hard as he was pulled back from the edge. 

After he managed to sit up again, he found Hannibal licking his lips, and felt like he might blow all over again. “I want you, Hannibal, all of you, you have no idea.”

It had been such a long time since he’d even felt compelled to masturbate, and now Hannibal was _here_ , touching him, sucking him, and he knew he wasn’t going to last long, but he _wanted_.

Hannibal looked up at him, considering. “I will admit, this is not how I pictured consummating our love for the first time. But I could never deny you, Will.” He rose, crawling onto the bed, and Will pushed him onto his back, content to stare at the man’s face for a moment.

“How did you picture it?”

Hannibal’s eyes went far off, like he was accessing a memory. “There were candles.” 

Will snorted, leaning down to kiss him. When he pulled away Hannibal was panting. 

“How would you like to proceed, Will?”

“I…” He didn’t know. Hannibal seemed to realize as such, because he sat up, letting out a breath.

“I would love to open you up slowly, Will, to show you the pleasures of being with a man, to make you cry out, but I am afraid I do not have the patience required, at this time, to avoid hurting you. I have the experience needed to take you with little difficulty, however.” 

Hannibal’s words made Will feel warm, and he swallowed, letting out a shaky breath. “Next time, then.” 

Hannibal closed his eyes at the promise. “Next time. Do you have any lubrication?”

Will got up and found the little bottle in his dresser, still relatively full. 

“Would you prefer me to stretch myself, or would you like to do it? I indulged in the act last night, during my shower, so it should not take long.”

Will shuddered. “Were you thinking of me?”

“Who else?”

Will took a moment to mourn the opportunity he had indeed missed, before shifting closer to the other on the bed. “I want to do it.” 

“Very well.” There was a faint smile on Hannibal’s face. He laid back, lifting his knees, and Will hoped to himself that he’d last long enough to give Hannibal something out of this whole experience, when it was all said and done. “Is this all right?”

“Yes. Yes.” Will clambered closer, opening up the bottle of lube. His hands were shaking.

“Will. Are you nervous?”

“Uh, a little. Mostly just horny.” 

Hannibal’s lips twitched up higher, and he looked at Will with such a look of adoration that Will had to lean down and kiss him again, hard. 

“Will,” Hannibal breathed once he pulled away. “I am a patient man, but not that patient. Please begin.”

Will let out a breath of laughter, but didn’t hesitate to obey. He moved his hand down, unable to resist taking hold of Hannibal’s cock and giving it a brief stroke on his way to the other’s entrance. He felt Hannibal’s hips lift into the touch, heard the other’s inhale, and he had to close his eyes until he stopped shuddering.

Will pressed a finger against him, rubbing gently, looking back at Hannibal’s face. There was no apprehension, or any tension at all on the other’s end, and Will, not for the first time, wished he had the man’s composure. Sucking in a breath, he slid one finger inside. 

Hannibal was completely relaxed. Will wondered if he was supposed to look for the prostate now, or wait until later, wishing he’d watched more porn in preparation for this moment. Gay pornography hadn’t really done anything for him when he’d attempted watching it- then again, neither did heterosexual porn, so he guessed he wasn’t all that surprised. 

Biting his lip, he slid his finger in deeper, starting to thrust it in and out, keeping his eyes on Hannibal’s face. “Uh, is this okay?” 

“You’re doing fine, Will. Please, continue.”

Will nodded, exhaling deeply. Carefully, he slid in another finger along with the first. The stretch was tighter this time, but Hannibal didn’t even flinch. 

“Scissor your fingers, you need to make sure I’m ready for you.”

Will obeyed the instruction, absentmindedly wondering what the word ‘cock’ would sound like out of Hannibal’s mouth. 

“Good. Now-” Hannibal stopped talking, suddenly, and Will paused in his movements, worried he’d done something wrong. Cataloguing Hannibal’s expression, however, it was apparent that instead, he’d done something right.

Hannibal’s eyes closed, his mouth open in a faint ‘o’, the muscles in his face relaxed. Will stared, moving his fingers again, trying to figure out the gesture that had earned that reaction. He succeeded, and Hannibal’s mouth opened wider, another, soft noise leaving his mouth and making Will desperate to hear more. 

Will’s crooked fingers continued to massage the little spot he’d found on accident, taking note of the way Hannibal slowly fell apart, the way he didn’t even try to restrain himself, the way he let himself get lost completely in the pleasure Will was providing. 

Will leaned down, pressing a kiss to the man’s prominent cheekbone. “I love you,” he murmured, and Hannibal’s eyes fluttered open. 

As he watched, wetness began to well up in the other’s dark gaze. 

Will’s lips twitched. “Are you going to cry every time I say that?”

“It’s possible,” Hannibal replied after a moment. His hands moved from the comforter to Will’s sides, making a shiver run down his spine. “Will. Please add another finger.”

Will did, anticipation starting to build in his stomach. His own cock was straining against his stomach for attention, body tense from the effort of not reaching down to touch himself. He’d barely thrust in with three fingers twice before Hannibal was shifting, brow furrowing. 

“Will, that’s enough.”

“Are you-”

“Yes. Do you have condoms?” 

Will hurried to find one, suddenly aware that he was about to fuck Hannibal, and holy shit, he was not going to let something like a lack of condoms stop him. He’d go to the store now and get more if he had to. 

Thankfully, he located one (he was fairly certain he’d gotten it in the mail for some promotional thing), and he moved back to the bedroom, sliding it on in record time.

“Lubricate yourself,” Hannibal said, legs still spread wide, and Will wasted no time, pouring more lube onto his fingers and dropping his hand down to his aching erection.

He dragged his hand down his length, letting out a groan at the feeling after being ignored for so long, and couldn’t resist repeating the action. He stopped with some effort, panting, reasoning there were much better things to be doing. 

He was going to fuck Hannibal. Fuck. 

Will crawled over him, breath hitching as he stared down at the man he loved, watching him like he was the only thing that mattered. Will leaned his head down, kissing him, shuddering as he lined his cock up.

Hannibal pressed a hand against his cheek. “Make love to me,” he murmured, and a laugh tumbled out of Will’s mouth.

“You’re so damn cheesy.”

“It’s okay to admit you like cheesy.”

Will smiled, letting out a breath as he met the other’s eyes again. “I’m going to make love to you now.”

“Good, I was getting tired of waiting.”

Will laughed. It was hard though, to keep smiling, when he was pressing inside of Hannibal’s heat, still so tight, barely able to breathe. He let his head fall into the crook of Hannibal’s neck, and felt the other’s arms come around him, rubbing up and down his back.

Will shuddered once he had nothing left to give, panting hard against Hannibal’s skin, struggling to stay still, to give the other time to adjust. Hannibal wasn’t any help, though, his hands sliding down Will’s back, down to his ass.

Will bit his lip, and a strangled noise left him when Hannibal _pulled_ , using the leverage to force them together, making it impossible _not_ to jerk his hips forward, seeing stars. “Hannibal, god, you’re gonna make me…”

“Will. You do not have to be so careful with me. In fact, I would prefer you weren’t.”

Hannibal liked it rough, okay. That thought was mildly amusing, but Will couldn’t muster up enough energy to laugh, not when he’d just been given permission to move. 

His hips snapped into motion, and Will’s mouth fell open, puffs of air dotting Hannibal’s skin as he ground into the other. Hannibal grunted, and Will pulled back, thrusting back in with one long stroke, starting to pick up a rhythm. 

Then he shifted, just a little, and Hannibal _moaned_ , squeezing him hard. Will scrambled to repeat the motion, already feeling his orgasm fast approaching. He wrapped his arms around Hannibal and grabbed onto his shoulders, using the hold to drag the other back harder against him without really realizing it. 

“Oh fuck,” he gasped, the way Hannibal’s heat seemed to suck him in, pulsate around him making him nearly lose his mind, “Oh, Hannibal, I’m gonna- Hannibal, I- are you?”

“Will,” Hannibal groaned, and Will snapped his hips forward hard enough to make a startled, needy noise leave the man. That only made Will want to fuck him harder. “Will,” Hannibal tried again, “I can’t understand you if you don’t speak in complete sentences.” Hannibal’s words were punctuated by his breaths, timed rhythmically to Will’s thrusts. Of course, Hannibal could still be coherent even now.

Will panted, thrusting faster, and lifting up a little so he could fist Hannibal’s cock. The sound Hannibal made was nearly symphonic, and Will echoed it with a groan of his own.

“Dear Will,” Hannibal gasped, one hand rising to fist in Will’s curls, “My wonderful, precious, good boy.”

Will’s eyes rolled back as he came.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**_One year later_ **

 

 

Bedelia stared towards the kitchen, finding it difficult to keep her breaths even. She could feel very little, in her current state, but she realized that the beautifully presented hunk of meat sitting in front of her on her dining room table was her own leg. 

Hannibal wasn’t dead, after all. And, unsurprisingly, Will was with him.

Slowly, trying not to make a sound, she took hold of the fork resting on her plate, bringing it carefully into her lap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recipe and ingredients from: http://allrecipes.com/recipe/58942/absolute-best-liver-and-onions/
> 
> That's all folks! Of course I couldn't kill off Hannibal. I like happy endings too much for that. Thank you for reading this far, and I hope you enjoyed the ride!


End file.
